


Morphosis

by NonSequtur



Category: The Sandman (Comics), Worm (Web Serial Novel)
Genre: Dream Sequence, Gen, Loss of Identity, Mind Screw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 74,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1361893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NonSequtur/pseuds/NonSequtur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The heartwarming story of a girl ascending to godhead. Taylor Hebert gets rather more than she bargained for when she falls asleep in the locker. At least being a hero should be easy now, right?</p><p>Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Imagone 0.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, let's do this:
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Prologue: Imagone
> 
> 0.1

[]

Emma and her friends walked away down the empty halls footsteps clicking on the tiles, leaving me in my locker, filled with trash.

I screamed and shouted, fists smashing on the door of the locker. No one heard me. I stopped after a while, throat raw.

I gave up.

I'd been in the locker for two hours before I started getting tired. My breathing, shallow and reluctant, had been disrupted by a yawn. Once the inevitable gagging ceased I noticed that my knees had bent, slipping through the filth of the locker to press up against the doors. My head soon followed it. The locker didn't feel so dirty now, the once clammy tampons warmed to something approaching a comfortable temperature. My mind almost thought it like my bed back home, where I could fall asleep peacefully, before something squelching under my foot snapped me right back to reality.

I wasn't crying anymore, and my eyelids felt heavy. Despite the inappropriateness of the thought, I couldn't help but think of my bed again, warm memories of soft hands and softer words. My mother had always helped me fall asleep, when I had been too afraid of the monsters and other things that hid in the dark. She would pull the blanket up to my chin, and tell me it was a special blanket, that could keep the monsters out. Then she'd tell me to dream of someplace bright and kind, and it would all be better in the morning.

I could use that right about now. Hell, I'd even take the blanket.

Maybe it'd be there when I woke up.

And with that, Taylor Hebert fell asleep, and dreamt.

[]

I was in a silvery desert, that was full of something that wasn't sand.

Huh.

I picked some of the not-sand up and let it tumble through my fingers. As it fell I could swear that it was forming patterns, and I watched as sandy stars and faces flashed briefly before vanishing. Then it ended, and I stood up. Looking down at myself, I noticed that I was still coated in filth.

Well, there was an easy solution for that.

It occurred to me, as I dropped back down and rolled in the not-sand, that this felt far more real than any dream I'd had before. I was thinking clearly, for one, and nothing was really happening. No monsters wearing fleshy masks, no painful memories, nothing. I looked up, at the sky, and frowned. It seemed... closer, somehow. The stars were noticeable, and though there was no sun or moon in the sky it seemed about as bright as late afternoon, when the shadows begin to really stretch. But, other than that, nothing.

My earlier comment about thinking clearly might not have been true after all, as I was certainly handling this whole thing far more easily than I really should be. I supposed knowing that it was a dream helped. Still, it was nice, and I'd enjoy it while it lasted. I closed my eyes and prepared to wake up.

 

Weird. I opened my eyes and sat up. Nothing had changed. I got to my feet and peered off into the distance. Still nothing. I looked again. Still noth- Ah ha! There was something on the horizon!

Wait. Didn't that make it about 3 miles away? Damn.

I started walking anyway. Maybe this was some sort of vision quest, and I had to go there to meet my spirit animal or something before I could wake up. The locker certainly had enough fumes to start one. Did it really have to be so far away though? I could see more of it peeking over the horizon, spires and towers that made me thing of some sort of castle.

When it finally appeared completely I gaped. I was right, but the word castle seemed almost inadequate. It looked like someone had taken the Disney Castle and made it go Gothic. And huge. Gigantic stone blocks, twice my height in some cases, made towers that seemed to be doing their level best to defy the law of gravity.

Then I noticed how old it looked. A number of the towers had fallen, and most of the rest had collapsed roofs. Stones taller than me were scattered around like toys, and decay hung around the castle like fog. Also fog hang around the castle like fog, but that was more of a footnote to the decay.

I stepped forward, towards the gates that I had only just noticed. They were, respectable I supposed, but rather dwarfed by the scale of the castle. As I got even closer I noticed why. The gate was made of two matching, over-sized horns, whose provenance I could only guess at.

I put my hands on the gates and prepared to push, only to stumble as they swung open noiselessly. Convenient. I stepped into the environs of the castle. And then I stepped back, having just noticed the stairs. Stairs that... huge should not be able to hide like that. I was beginning to feel rather put upon as I looked up at the hundreds of marble steps, many of which had been broken, making the trip precarious. I went up the stairs, frustration setting in. I suppose it was to be expected that I got the boring vision quest. No monsters or excitement at all, I thought as I finally reached the castle's main doors, flanked by two massive empty pedestals. The doors opened after a bit of effort, and I made it into the castle.

My first thought was: more walking?

My next thought was: finally.

Because there, at the end of a really stupidly large entrance hall, was something interesting, in a manner other than huge.

A throne on a dais, flanked by tattered curtains, with something inset at the top, green and shining. My feet echoed off the marble as I walked towards it, and if it weren't for the damaged nature of the room I might have felt regret at spilling the not-sand across the opalescent stone.

Still better than the contents of the locker.

The throne, I was unsurprised to notice, was rather over-sized, though less so than the rest of the castle. The kind of throne a professional basketball player might have. At the top, in a hexagon as large as two of my fists sat a shard of emerald the size of my thumb. It was out of my reach as it was, however, and I had to stand on the armrest of the throne to even try to reach it. I stretched, standing on my toes and my fingers brushed the gem, knocking it out of place. Of course, this is when I slipped and fell, knocking my head on the way down.

That hurt. Rubbing my head I stood up, and noticed that the stone wasn't there. Typical. Maybe it had fallen behind the throne? Pushing dusty velvet curtains out of my way I noticed two things.

One was the lack of any crystal, emerald or otherwise.

The other was a door, one that, despite being done in marble and gems seemed very familiar. It was my door, the one to my bedroom at home, seen from the outside. I walked towards it slowly, half-expecting some sort of twist. It would fit with my life up to this point wouldn't it? Maybe it would open to the interior of the locker again. Or, more keeping with the theme of this dream, yet another long hallway.

Hoping, dreaming that it might be something else, someplace warm and safe, I opened the door. What I saw was a shifting mass of mist, small lights like stars or diamonds flashing somewhere deep within. I also saw shapes, shapes that reminded me of my bed back home, my dresser and my window. I stepped through.

And entered my room. The shout of joy I let out was entirely justified, but I stifled any further sounds after seeing the birds outside rustle their feathers. It looked like it was late afternoon, the sun beginning to slip down the horizon, shadows spilling across entire streets, the moon hanging faintly overhead. I must have missed school, I thought, rather wildly, and began to chuckle, my whole body shaking.

It was then that I noticed that silvery not-sand was falling off my clothes, making a mess of the floor. Clothes that, if I wanted to (I didn't), I could still smell the stench of the locker and it's contents off of.

This time my shout of joy startled the birds out of their roosts entirely, and likely disturbed more than a few of the neighbours too. I didn't care.

I had powers.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> Ao3 hats my formatting. Whatever
> 
> Say hello to the 3rd Dream of the Endless, Taylor Hebert everybody! It's another 'Taylor get's a different power' snippet!
> 
> Now on to more serious matters. This snippet, if (when), I choose to continue it is not supposed to lead to a roflstomp!Taylor fic. I hate that, you hate that, let's move on. This does mean that she can not have the full reality warping powers and still have any significant relation to the main plot (Scion, what Scion?), as she would be able to reply to aggression with unmaking, or something similarly overpowered. This would (will?) be addressed in three ways:
> 
> 1\. She won't have full power. Her ability to shape dreams is limited, her ability to have them affect the waking world more so (Bringing a dream sword into reality would still be hard for her at the beginning, and pulling people people in to the dream world would be a touch activated and finicky ability). She won't know what she's doing, and therefore only has easy access to the currently being dreamt dreams. Any thematic and powerful dreams (think Corinthian), beyond the castle itself? Out of her reach.
> 
> Also her range for current dreamers is currently small, only a couple blocks. It was a shard she picked up, not a full gem. It'll grow though.
> 
> 2\. How she interacts with the plot will change. She will not be nearly as effective as a solo hero, given the above restrictions. So her interactions with the Worm Canon will change. No spoilers, but it won't be Inception. It won't not be Inception.
> 
> 3\. I call it a fusion I mean it. A good part of the plot will be dreams, nightmares and other supernaturals coming to interfere both with her and the people around her. She isn't Dream yet, but she's got a lot of the responsibilities. (Not nearly as many of the same rules, yet)
> 
> Combat-wise, using this post to give a better system:  
> http://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/acceleration-worm-au.284714/page-33#post-13060542
> 
> She'd probably start heroing at:  
> Mover: 3 Tinker: 3 Thinker: 2
> 
> Move on to
> 
> Mover: 4 Shaker: 2 Tinker: 4 Master: 2 Brute: 1 Striker: 4 Thinker: 3 Stranger: 1
> 
> Before slowly escalating to what, if she were going all out, no rules, in the Worm-verse a Trump 12 or something similar. Of course that won't happen. She'll be forced to follow some rules.
> 
> And no, I'm probably not going to explain what meta-physically happened during the "trigger". Nor am I going to say what happened to the Endless, or how she managed to get the gem.


	2. Eyes Wide Shut 1.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I've got something resembling a plot mapped out.
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Eyes Wide Shut
> 
> 1.1

[]

I arrived to school the next morning with my mood significantly improved. This was at least partly due to my not having to walk there. A little bit of focus and my front door led back into the throne room. I turn around and it's the door to the girls bathroom, seen from the inside and I'm in school with a minute to spare.

I wasn't going to give them any free shots. I make it into my CompSci class right before the bell rings, and get to work. Fifteen minutes later I've finished and am free to start researching. First of all, power classification and application. I stared at the categories, trying to see if any of them described my abilities. Mover worked, teleportation or something like it. Everything else... I rubbed my eyes.

I needed to test out my powers more before I did anything else. I had no idea what they were. I sighed and closed the window, before checking the time. Still a solid half-hour before class ended. I could try and experiment now- no. Bad idea. I'd probably vanish in the middle of class and then where would I be? Well, besides in the not in class. Sighing again I opened another window, this time searching for information on the major parahuman groups. Locally there were the obvious suspects. The Azn Bad Boys and the Empire 88, two racially restricted groups that controlled large portions of the city, each led by powerful parahumans: Kaiser and Lung, both of whom looked like villains out of some Tolkien novel. A dragon and an evil knight.

How fitting. I moved on. There were mentions of other, smaller groups with names like the Undersiders and the Merchants, but most groups of any significance had seemingly been crushed in the endless fighting between the two superpowered superpowers. On the heroic side things were a bit simpler. Protectorate, Wards, New Wave. The Protectorate, led by Armsmaster, was the local branch of the national organization of heroes. The New Wave was a family of heroes, who had once tried to start a movement of 'maskless' capes. It hadn't ended well. The Wards were the most interesting to me personally, as they were my best bet to joining an established parahuman organization, and joining the Protectorate later.

I was reading an article about their leader, a boy called Aegis, when the bell rang, signifying the end of class. Shutting down the computer and gathering my stuff I moved on to my next class. I had a lot to think about. I moved through the halls slowly, not trusting my feet to remain under me if I lost focus. I scanned the hall. No sign of Sophia, Emma or Madison.

I made it to my next class without incident. Lunch, after that, however, wasn't so lucky.

"Didn't see you in class yesterday Hebert. Something wrong?"

I didn't reply. I had my pride.

"Hope you didn't find yourself in a... sticky situation."

How original. They must be running out of material. A hand found it's way on to my shoulder and I had to suppress a flinch. A quick look around confirmed that everyone else was far enough away to deny knowledge of whatever might be about to happen. Great.

"Seriously though, are you all right?" That would be Emma, but something was off. It almost sounded like genuine concern in her voice. I looked at her, barely within my range of vision. Was she smirking-

"Or are you going to cry yourself to sleep for a week again?"

I spun around, tears prickling the corners of my eyes. She would bring that up wouldn't she-

I froze, eyes snapping to something rather more important than my feelings of betrayal. Emma and Madison were much as they always were, though, looking at her more clearly I could confirm that Emma had a rather malicious smirk on her face. That wasn't what I noticed however, because there, over Sophia's shoulder was something that shouldn't be there. A dark shape, vague impressions of a masculine face and body apparent in the shadows that seemed to make it up, clinging on to her shoulder, fingers threading through her hair, mouth positioned to whisper in her ear. The worst part was the eyes, or what passed for eyes at any rate. Dark, pitch-black pits stared at me, with only the tiniest pinprick of light to suggest where they were looking.

It was with mounting dread that I noticed that it was looking right at me. I stood stock still, unable to speak, as the thing kept on staring. This likely would have continued for quite a while had Sophia not spoken, apparently not noticing the shadow thing holding on to her hair.

"Holy shit, I think you broke her." She shoved me back, and I stumbled, falling into a crouch. "Pathetic. Let's go."

They left, the shadow thing staring at me all the while.

What was that?

[]

When I got home, taking the shortcut through the bathroom again, my head was still spinning. Was that some application of my power? What could it mean? It had looked like some sort of ghost or spirit, but that didn't make any sense. None of the powers I knew of would include anything along the lines of spirit viewing. That just made the experiments even more important. I knew I could enter the castle by going through doors. But the first time I'd gone there, there hadn't been any doors that I could open. Falling asleep might be a hassle, but who knew? Maybe I'd end up somewhere with no doors, and then I'd be rather screwed. So, sitting cross legged in front of my bed, I closed my eyes and breathed in.

When I opened them I was sitting in the throne, looking across a destroyed hall. That was... a lot easier than I expected. Was falling asleep not necessary, or was one of my powers super-narcolepsy? I shook my head. Functionally the same really. I stood up and looked around. The place was the same as it was last time I'd been there. The throne, the curtains and the door were major landmarks. At the end of the hall there were the large doors that led to the steps. Looking at the distance, I decided to leave any outdoor explorations for later. The curtains, on the other hand, seemed interesting. Rubbing some of the material between my fingers I noted that, despite being velvet and rather damaged, it felt like my blanket back home. Warm, inviting, safe.

Feeling rather silly, I pulled off a piece of one of them, and fashioned it into a cloak, ragged and dark. It felt... right. Like how it was supposed to be. I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. Why couldn't my power make sense? It seemed to be operating off of some sort of bizarre dream-logic more than anything else- Oh. The falling asleep, the bizarre castle in the middle of a - I looked through some massive stain glass windows to confirm - desert, and - narrowing my eyes at the windows that weren't there before, and certainly shouldn't be able to see the desert from the middle of the castle- the often suddenly appearing architecture... It was as dream. My dream.

I began to laugh, and spun around in a circle a couple time, cloak flaring, before calming down. This was a great power! It was like some sort of Tinker/Trump thing, probably. If this was a dream...

I whirled and pointed to the centre of the hall, thinking of a magic sword, or a cape that would give me powers like Alexandria. I'd dreamt of things like that before, this should be simple.

Nothing. Of course it couldn't be that easy. As I let my hand drop, I noticed it felt rather dirty, and I wiped it clean on my makeshift cloak. I looked down, and noticed what I'd thought was just dirt was actually the weird not-sand from the silver desert outside, sparkling on the velvet of the curtain. So I suppose I made something. I tried again. This time there wasn't even sand. Huh. Maybe I needed time to recharge?

Putting the thought aside for the moment I decided to check something else. I knew I could cross from the real world into the dream, but could anything else? My clothes said that waking things could cross, but could something else leave? A power-granting cape would be rather useless if I had to leave it here.

I stepped toward the door, but stopped as an idea came to me. If I didn't need a door to enter the dream why would I need one to leave? I sat back down on the throne, feeling small as I did so. As tall as I was, this was clearly made for someone much taller. Pushing the thought down I closed my eyes...

And opened them to by bedroom, where I sat, crosslegged, with a smirk on my face.

Experiment: Success

One niggling thought remained however, even as I closed my eyes and slipped back into the dream.

What was that thing on Sophia's shoulder?

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Figuring things out.
> 
> Not much to say here really. Well, beyond the fact I have no claim to either property involved in this fusion.


	3. Eyes Wide Shut 1.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help I'm Locked In A Snippet Factory
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Eyes Wide Shut  
> 1.2

[]

My morning routine was rather odd. I would wake up twice. Wait, no, teenager. That isn't the odd part. The odd part is that I do it without falling asleep inbetween. When I go to bed I fall asleep, find myself on the throne, pull my cloak around me and fall asleep again. In the morning the process is reversed. Most of my dreams tend to be about the castle anyway, so I can hardly tell when I've really fallen asleep. I felt rested though, so I must be have been doing something right.

School was, to my surprise, getting better. Maybe they were laying off, after their coup de grace didn't work? Maybe I was just paying less attention. Bullies were quite a bit less interesting than dream-powers, even if I couldn't quite figure out how they worked, though I was making progress. After my successful first test I had run a few more experiments. 'Normal' things, like clothes, pencils etc. could be carried across with little effort into the dream. Things from within the dream could be carried out, but it was rather more difficult and required focus. My cloak, which currently was in my room, took about as much effort to take out as bringing my bed into the dream had been.

That had been -difficult- to explain. Thankfully my dad didn't come upstairs and notice my bed propped up against the wall. Anyway, when I had tried to bring a piece of masonry of a size slightly smaller than my bed out into the waking world I had found it difficult enough that I gave up. I could have done it, probably, but it would be difficult to cover up the heavy stone that would appear in my room as a result, even if it didn't break through the floor.

I really should have thought of that before I tried it. On the subject of the one thing I had managed to bring out of the dream, my cloak was quickly proving itself to be fantastically useful. Wearing it gave me some sort of protection, not in the least because it seemed to be nearly impossible for anything that wasn't my hands to damage. Though there was probably a better way of testing it than throwing rocks in the air and trying to get them to impact my shoulder.

They hurt, and I took to wearing my cloak with a hood after that. But when they didn't hit my head, they would just... slide off. I wasn't sure it would work for bullets, or anything sufficiently large or energetic, but it was better than nothing.

The bell rang and I jumped a little in my chair, frowning as I looked at my notebook. Even if my cloak would function as a part of my costume I still had no idea as to what my name would be. Most of the more imposing dream-related names -good ones like Morpheus and Oneiros- were masculine, and Dream and it's derivatives sounded like I was trying to go into porn. As it was I had a number of pages full of names, none of which I liked. I shook off the foul mood though, as I stood up and went to the bathroom stall from which I made my way home.

Of course it wasn't going to be that easy. Emma and her friends had apparently decided that I'd had enough of a break and followed me, Sophia still with the creepy shoulder-thing from before. I picked up my pace, less conscious of my image than them, and it wasn't like they needed to rush. Where would I go? I turned the corner and pulled out of sight, and entered the bathroom at a run. No one saw me as I entered the stall. Good. I closed my eyes and slipped back into the dream even as I heard the door open and Emma's drawling call of Hebert.

I opened my eyes and I was in the throne room. Safe.

That was entirely too close.

[]

I had plans. It hadn't taken me long to notice that every time I wanted to make something, some of the silver sand would appear. Not all that much, on average about as much as I could fit in the palm of my hand, and only once a day. Same for any sand I tried to bring in from the desert. After that it hadn't taken me long to start stockpiling it, making a pile of sand at the bottom of the throne's dais. I may not have been able to make the magic sword or cape before, but I certainly could now.

I stood in front of the sand, tapping my foot. Beside me a bouncy ball hopped gaily, testament to a previous success. Now the question was: What to make? The cloak served as both armor and disguise, and I had a feeling that I would need a lot more sand to make an Alexandria-in-a-cape. I decided to try anyway. Reaching in to the pile of sand, I tried to grasp the cape, pull it out of the sand like the ball. I could feel the edges of the cloth, the power and promise it held, but couldn't get a firm grip on it. Scowling I pulled my hands out. That was a bust, though I had hoped it wouldn't be I couldn't say I was surprised. I stuck my hands in, this time trying to grab a weapon, something that would let me fight closer to the level of all the monsters in the city. My hands felt something hard, and grabbed for it. I pulled the object out of the sand even as the pile shrank, pulling together into what was now obviously a sword, sheathed in a black scabbard with silver trim, with matching belt.

I cracked it open slightly, revealing the first inches of blade, before whipping the scabbard off entirely. It dissolved into silvery sand as it fell, which then vanished, never even touching the marble floor. Interesting, but my attention remained focused on the blade itself. It was bright, impossibly so in the perpetual twilight of the dream, and viscerally sharp. I reached for the edge with a finger, before pulling back. That was a stupid idea. Instead I walked to one of the various pieces of rubble that littered the hall, and swung. The top of the stone slid off soon afterward, and I swung again to check the edge.

Now there were three pieces of rubble on the floor. That would probably help with the cleaning up that I have to do. I eyed the piles of rubble that flanked the throne, tall and imposing. I don't think it would be all that useful on those, which was irritating. During my earlier explorations of the castle I hadn't found any doors, so the way to access the rest should be behind the rubble. I rested the tip of the sword on the ground, intending on using it as a cane, when it sunk into the marble with minimal resistance. Worse, I could see though some of the gaps in the stone, and see stairs and doors behind the makeshift wall, taunting me.

Stupid rubble.

That... was a problem. I could hardly just leave it out with that kind of edge, and I didn't want to leave it in the dream. It would be useful, in case I ran into a supervillain or something. Now where could I find the scabbard? I felt something tickling in my off hand and looked down to see the silvery sand swirling around, obscuring my hand for a moment before it vanished and left me with a certain black and silver scabbard. Useful. I sheathed the sword, and paused.

Could I do the same to other things?

I closed my eyes and willed the sword to vanish. A hitch in my breath, a slight shifting in my balance, and I couldn't feel the weight of it in my hand anymore. I opened my eyes and with an effort called it back, scabbard and all. After doing the same to my cloak I felt giddy. Now I could 'carry' them with me, without looking like some sort of Ren-Faire enthusiast. Or a cape, I'd heard of one who dressed like a wizard, robes and all.

Now, for the final test. I stepped behind the throne and opened the door, seeing the vague mist-shapes that signified my bedroom. Bracing myself I stepped through.

It was like pushing through molasses. The fog that filled the doorway tugged at the cloak, the sword, tugged on me harder than it ever had. I expected that though, and pushed on. Finally I crossed into my bedroom and stumbled at the sudden lack of resistance. Still, it looked like it worked, and now I had something I could fight with. With a thought the cloak and sword dispersed in a swirl of silver sand and I stood, almost bouncing on my toes, in my bedroom.

Wait.

I have a sword.

I'll be fighting in close quarters with supervillains.

Why didn't I make a gun? Still, with a sigh, I decided to adopt some sort of exercise regimen. Even if my cloak made me hard to hurt I'd have to be fast in order to hit someone with the sword.

This was going to suck, I thought as I flopped town on to my bed.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Title of this snippet during writing was: Sandman. I thought it fitting.
> 
> Also, she's beginning to realize the one constant of Worm: It's going to suck.
> 
> And no, she doesn't realize exactly how malleable everything in the Dreamworld is. Otherwise, why would she wear normal clothes, or not have her sword turn into a pen a la Percy Jackson. She's enough of a munchkin to do it.
> 
> I can't stop! And none of this belongs to me!


	4. Eyes Wide Shut 1.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Frothing at the mouth*
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Eyes Wide Shut
> 
> 1.3

[]

I had been making a tour of the castle when I first saw it. It wasn't there long, just a flicker in the air, but I saw it regardless. Some time later I was back on the throne, trying to fall asleep, when I heard the sound of a car engine driving by. I start, pulling my cloak off and find myself staring at an empty hall. Even later, when I was in that odd, might-be-dreaming state that seemed to pass for sleep now, I saw something quite bit more troubling.

A curtain of dark hair, tossed carelessly over a shoulder in the instant before it disappeared. That was my mother's hair. I certainly wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. With an effort I called back my sword, and tightened my cloak around my body, pulling it up into a hood, and tied the scabbard around my waist. I stood up, closed my eyes and felt. Sand and stone sprung up around me, stain-glass windows appearing moments later but that wasn't what I was interested in.

There. The sound of a busy street. I reached out and grabbed the feeling as it pulled away from the familiar throne room and into somewhere else.

I opened my eyes and was promptly jostled by a passerby. I was on a street corner, during rush hour. No one seemed to notice the strange girl in the cloak. I found this strangely disappointing. Still, I was here for a reason. I looked up and down the streets. Nothing.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I spun around, hand going to my sword.

It was my dad. Younger, I thought, and happier, but still my dad. Any thing I might have said, however, was derailed when he spoke.

"Miss, are you all right?" he asked, voice earnest. I swallowed. Either he didn't recognize me, or this wasn't my father. I smiled in return, trying to seem harmless. Something wasn't right.

"Fine, thanks for asking." He smiled, before frowning. I tensed. Had I done something wrong? My hand drifted back to my sword before I realized that he wasn't looking at me, but at something over my shoulder. I turned around, trying to see what had caught his attention. I froze, wide-eyed.

It was my mother. Everything as I remembered and then some. She was sitting in the passenger seat of her old car, the one she had died in, and she was alive. Gloriously so, her hair whipping around in the mid-afternoon wind, her smile as bright as anything.

And next to her, driving the car, laughing and smiling along with her was my father. I spun around and he was still behind me. He wasn't smiling anymore, and his face had shadows to it that were entirely unsuited to the position of the sun in the sky.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice sad, so very, deeply sad. I didn't move. I couldn't move. Was this my father's dream?

"You really should leave," his voice was angry now, and I backed up a step. The shadows that I had already noticed on his face were spreading, making the surrounding street around me seem all that much more menacing. I couldn't see his eyes anymore, hooded as they were. Behind me they was a squealing and a short, sharp scream. Then there was a loud crash, and all I could hear from the streets was the sound of my father, in the car, crying. The car had crashed again. But that dim horror was nothing to what I saw in front of me. My dad, twisted and covered in shadows, trembling, fists clenched in either sorrow or rage.

"Just GO!" His head snapped up, and I could see his eyes, burning like coals and framed by evaporating tears as darkness exploded around us.

I ran. Down now empty streets, under a twilight sky, my shadow dancing ahead of me, stretched to inhuman proportions I ran. I ran away from the monster my father had become. I could feel his footfalls through the ground, the brief crack of claws digging into concrete and asphalt. I ran and ran away from his nightmare until I couldn't run anymore. I had been too clever for my own good, running into a small alley, hoping it would give the opportunity to make my escape. It hadn't, and now I stood in the alley, my back pressed to the dead end as my father advanced slowly towards me.

It couldn't end like this.

I wouldn't let it end like this.

I drew my sword, hands altogether too steady given the circumstances.

"Stay back!" I shouted, voice desperate, sword held in front of me. The monster slowed. I stood taller.

"I said stay back!" My voice was more authoritative than before and my father slowed, claws falling down to his sides.

"Go away! I order you to leave!" I swung my sword to punctuate the command and the nightmarish vision dissolved into silver sands, which were quickly blown through a broken window and out into the desert. I was in the throne room again.

I backed up a step, and then another, before I dropped my sword, uncaring of the gouge it left in the marble floors. I collapsed, sobbing, pulling my cloak over and around me as I sat at the foot of the dais.

I didn't get any sleep that night.

[]

Breakfast was awkward that morning. My father, at least, seemed to be unaffected by whatever it was that had happened the night before. He went about his routine like he did every morning. Meanwhile I took every chance I could get to stare at the back of his head.

I had far too many questions. Whose dream was that, his or mine? If it was his, that brought up quite a few, more disturbing questions, especially with regards to the fact he apparently hadn't recognized me.

... I didn't like what that might imply. Still, I was planning on picking up something one the interpretation of dreams later, supposing it wasn't my dream. On the other hand, if it was what I thought it was, it would probably be an extremely useful power, for reconnaissance if nothing else.

Dad turned around and I focused back on my cereal.

I just wish I hadn't discovered it like this.

Soon enough, however, he had to go and it was time for me to get to school. As I stepped out of the girls bathroom I felt someone watching me. Emma and her friends were staring at me. That didn't bode well. I lowered my head and hurried into class.

The teacher was barely paying attention as they called out attendance. To be fair, I was hardly paying attention either. Hamlet, for all of it's importance, simply wasn't covered all that well. Plus, our English teacher, a portly old gentleman, was as blind as a bad and had a voice that could put a stone to sleep. It wasn't the best of learning environments.

So it was quite a surprise when I was called on to read the soliloquy. You know the one, 'To be, or not to be', and all that. About as standard as you could get. It wasn't typically a girl's part, and I had to wonder if the teacher had even bothered looking where he was pointing. I lifted my forehead off the desk and looked at him.

Didn't look like it. Figures.

Well, it was hardly a punishment. I liked reading, even if drama wasn't my favorite subject. Too many people watching. I cracked open my copy of the text and started reading. But something was different this time. As I sank into the role of the Prince of Denmark silvery mists began to billow around me. Only the fact that the class didn't seem to notice anything too different kept me reading the lines, continuing the soliloquy. Cheap tile gave way to ancient stone, and the ceiling shot upwards even as the windows, arrow slits now, showed the scene outside become Ellesmere, in a swirl of silver sand. My clothes became finery, my book a tome and my voice echoed with timbre not my own.

Still, I continued the soliloquy. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Madison, the only one of my tormentors to be in this class, slowly shift into robes fitting a queen. Similar transformations overcame the rest of the class, though most were not so lucky as to remain human throughout, becoming curtains and props where the King, his Queen, Polonius and Ophelia hid behind. I knew they were there, behind me. I didn't care. I poured my rage, my hate, my fear and my hope into the speech, building it up until I was almost shouting when Ophelia, a girl I hardly knew, approached.

She stood there, silent, her face twisted in some unrecognizable emotion, and the scene vanished like it never was, dissolving back into mist. Everyone was staring at me.

Slowly, someone started to clap. First one, then another, until the whole class was applauding. Even Madison, a confused expression on her face, joined in. The teacher, his voice trembling, thanked me and asked me to sit down. I did so, his words barely registering. No one had noticed, it seemed. Ophelia continued with her lines, but my head was somewhere else entirely. I felt alive, and my head buzzed with a thousand thoughts. One cut through the noise and brought itself to the fore.

What just happened?

I passed through the rest of school in a sort of daze, only paying half-attention to the world around me. So I didn't notice that when I picked up a tail, it only had two members.

What I did notice, as I entered the girls bathroom to get home, was Sophia standing there. She was smirking and her hands were placed confidently on her hips. The shadow on her shoulder, fingers in her hair, stared at me with it's pinprick eyes.

Damn. And it had been going so well too.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Taylor's family life? Messed up. And there's something of Dream in the works of the Bard.
> 
> None of this belongs to me.


	5. Eyes Wide Shut 1.4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Tragic Consequences!
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Eyes Wide Shut
> 
> 1.4

[]

This wasn't good. I was in an empty bathroom with only Sophia for company, and Emma and Madison were likely coming from behind. I couldn't use my powers, not without outing myself anyway, and I had no illusions about my ability to fight her hand to hand without them. Talking it was then. I looked at the shadow hanging on to her shoulder. It looked older, male. It wrapped itself around her, restrictive and uncomfortable. On old flame? A family member? If I was right and this was her dream, or more likely her nightmare, and it was strong enough to manifest like that then it should be something I could leverage. She opened her mouth.

"Do you think about him often?" She froze. Good. "It certainly looks like you do. He's got his claws in you doesn't he? What is he, an old boyfriend? A bad father-figure?"

She flinched. I was on to something. I pushed down the bile rising in my throat, and continued, my voice soft, suggestive.

"Or maybe... both." I leaned forward and her shoulders rose, head down. I couldn't push this too far or it might turn physical anyway. Time for something more positive. I had to break her with kindness. I continued, voice soft.

"You don't have to end up like him, you know? You could find your own path, be your own per-" She punched me. Hard.

As I stumbled to the tile wall that stopped the boys from having a free view every time the door was opened I reflected that I really should have expected that. Wait, she had said something. Shouted it, really.

"Shut up! Who are you Hebert? How do know those things? You're not Tattletale, you're nothing! Who are you!?" Shit. She was crying. I didn't want this to happen. I swallowed, feeling tears pricking at my own eyes. Her shadow was flickering, appearing for brief moments to have full colour and detail, even as Sophia seemed to lose them, becoming little more than a silhouette. I had to fix this, but I couldn't make myself a target again.

"I don't know," I said, quietly, head down. "But I don't think you know, either."

I looked up. Sophia was staring at me through her tears, her hands balled into fists at her side. With a growl that sounded more like a sob she wiped them away, once more one of the queens of Winslow High. Her shadow had shrunk, not much, just a little, and it was more to it than to her that I directed my next statement.

"I think you should go." The shadow shrunk back even further, it's fingers unwinding from their grip on Sophia's hair. It never moved it's eyes from mine.

She straightened her back, fists relaxed, before giving me a strange look. She nodded, once, abruptly and left. Outside I could hear her talking to Emma and Madison, though I couldn't tell about what.

I closed my eyes, and opened them to look out over the great hall. A stuttering breath escaped me then, the scene over, and I stared at my hands.

My power was far too dangerous.

[]

After I had taken some time to calm myself, I looked around the hall. I thought about Sophia's strange shadow, and how it had felt to speak to it, push it away with nothing more than a word and and thought. I thought about the terrifying vision of my father, and how I had cowed it with my sword and my words. I hadn't made those nightmares, not the same way I had made the sword. But I could influence them. I stood up from the throne and stalked over to the pile of rubble on the left flank. I put my hand on one of the larger pieces.

"Move." Nothing. All right, maybe I wasn't saying it right?

"I command you to rise!" an order, full of authority.

"Get out of my way!" a shout, full of rage.

"...Please?" I was getting desperate.

Maybe I wasn't approaching this in the right way? I scratched at my forehead. I had understood, at least partly, what Sophia's shadow had been. Maybe that was the difference. What would these blocks be? A dream of a castle?

It couldn't hurt. I put my hand back on the rubble and closed my eyes. In my mind I could picture it. A grand palace, with pillars of marble that shone in the moonlight. One where a prince might live, ruling over a vast kingdom. Or where knights might find their place, at the table of some mythic king. Or perhaps a queen, wise and just, would administer the land, bringing it glory from a castle such as this.

I breathed in, and felt a weight settle into my chest. The I breathed out, and it was gone.

I opened my eyes. Before me, the castle was repaired. The marble sparkled in the dim light, as though it was inset with gemstones. And more importantly, the door it had previously been blocking off was now accessible. The other repairs could wait, I had exploring to do!

I made my way up the flights of stairs, noting that they extended for quite a bit longer than really should be able to fit in the castle, even if it were huge. Finally, after ascending a distance that I was sure was a good three times the height of the tallest tower in the castle, I stood, panting, in the entrance way to a library.

A library that was completely empty.

"Oh come on!" I was rather frustrated at this point. It was interesting, but it wasn't really useful. Then I noticed that it wasn't quite as empty as I had thought. On the closest shelf sat two books. One, titled, The Merrie Comedie of the Redemption of Dr. Faustus, supposedly by Christopher Marlowe, I set aside for later. It might end up being interesting. The other book, bound in black and brown leather, seemed rather more relevant. The title read, The Disquieting Tale of the Fall of Sophia Hess, with the author being listed as... me. That was odd, and I cracked the book open.

It was an index, with numbers but no chapter names, and a series of blank pages. With a frustrated huff I put it back on the shelf, dissolving the Merrie Comedie into sand for later reading.

After exploring the doors leading out from the library and finding a number of balconies and other architectural delights that, while beautiful, seemed rather useless. Especially the bridge over no water. This set the tone of my explorations until I cam across a smooth white door, lacking in any of the normal design aesthetics I had come to associate with my dream. Perhaps my subconscious was laying off the Gothic literature? If only a little?

I opened the door and entered room so white, so lacking in any distinguishing features that I could hardly tell where the floor ended and the walls began, let alone how high the ceiling might. I would have felt put upon, if it hadn't been for the six painting frames in the room. Maybe there was something informative in the paintings?

I checked. All of them, including the one covered by a tarp on the floor, were pure white.

I scowled. Of course.

There was one last painting, however, separate from the others, that did have something. A helmet, it seemed, crafted out of something half-way between crystal and bone, stared out from the painting. I stared at it, and it stared at me.

Well that was boring. Like looking at your face in the mirror. Nothing surprising.

I left the white room, and continued my expeditions. Tomorrow, I decided, I would go out and start actually being a hero.

[]

Being a hero, I soon decided, was absolutely boring. It was night, and I was out in one of the meaner parts of town, cloak concealing my features and sword at my hip. Pity that my experiments in restructuring the waking world like I had the dream world hadn't panned out. That would have been fantastically useful.

The sun was peeking over the horizon when I finally decided I'd had enough. An entire night and nothing happened. It made the pepper spray my dad insisted I carry around seem just a little bit silly. Here I was, new cape, asking for trouble, and I don't even get a dramatic first night out to teach me some valuable lesson about super-heroics, and responsibility? Not even some contrived circumstances to get me to meet the Wards, or some other big name groups?

I realized I was being silly. I also realized that perhaps the important lesson was one about boredom, and how I needed to actually know where a crime was being committed before I could do something. All the Trump rating in the world couldn't help me if I had a chronic case of 'wrong place, wrong time'. I pushed that thought down with a scowl. This wasn't going anywhere.

I decided to call it a night, mood sour, and slipped through the dream to get back home. I hoped to get something out of this night, even if it was only a couple hours sleep and an awful Aesop.

What a disappointing first night out.

It was only when I was curled up in my cloak, trying to fall asleep, that I realized I still didn't know what I'd call myself.

I didn't sleep well that night.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> She's often only half right. And, really, unless you have a sensory power, super-speed (with the required secondary powers) or run a police state like Dragon (or Batman), you should be about as effective as a nigh-indestructible beat cop most of the time.
> 
> I own nothing! And this placement in the thread was absolutely coincidence!


	6. Eyes Wide Shut 1.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeding the Epileptic Trees, or the Writer Out Of Space
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Eyes Wide Shut
> 
> 1.5

[]

When I arrived at school the next morning I found that everyone was giving me a wide berth. Well, more so than usual at any rate. What had Sophia said about the encounter in the bathroom? I looked around. For the most part everything was normal. But then somebody would look at me and freeze, like a deer looking at an oncoming car.

They looked scared. Scared of me. I closed my eyes, and stood up straight. That was fine.

Nowadays, so was I. I went to class, and ignored the whispers that followed me.

[]

After that disappointing first night I decided to change my strategy. I obviously couldn't expect the criminals to drop into my lap. So, the obvious answer was to go to them. Which explained why at one o'clock in the morning I found myself deep in Azn Bad Boy Territory, looking for any signs of gang activity. Given that I only had my sword, my cloak and an exit strategy, I might have been a bit presumptuous in immediately going into the territory of one of the two biggest gangs in the city. As I walked through the streets, going from alley to alley in search of some sort of crime, I found myself wondering if I shouldn't have gone to the Wards first.

I shook my head. Better to establish myself first, before joining any organization. Worse than that, joining the Wards would mean telling my dad. About my powers. I wasn't going to do that for a while, not until I understood what had happened fully. Wait, over there! Three men in ABB colours, carrying packages. Drugs? Money? I suppose it didn't matter, the odds of it being legal were close to none.

I snuck closer, my cloak blending in with the shadows, obscuring my movement. I was only a dozen feet away, if that, and I held my breath. No reaction. They continued bringing the packages from one of the more ramshackle buildings in to an unmarked white van. Good enough for me. I stepped forward, my cloak's hood obscuring my features.

"Didn't your mothers ever tell you that crime never pays in the end?" Oh god was that cheesy. Still it got their attention, now depending on exactly what-

A bullet pinged off the wall behind me. The man who had fired the gun tried it a couple more times, unsure if he had missed or not. Once he was fairly sure he had hit the figure in the cloak he cursed.

"Shit, it's a cape!" Throughout all of this I had stood stock still. Apparently my cloak could deal with gun fire. Good to know. Now that they had confirmed I was, in fact, a superhero they would probably try and hit me with as many bullets as possible, while calling for support. I braced myself, getting ready for the firefight that was about to occur.

Only to nearly stumble when, as one, all of the gang members dropped what they were holding and ran off.

That... was anticlimactic. I scowled. Apparently the universe was having fun at my expense. I bet the other heroes never had trouble getting their antagonists to, you know, antagonize them. Shrugging off the feeling I moved towards the van. Inside were a number of suitcases, some armored, some not. I opened the first few.

Money, drugs, guns. Everything you needed to start a gang. I closed the cases again. What on Earth could have prompted them to move so many valuable resources at once? I shrugged. I wasn't complaining. At least something was going right tonight. I picked up one of the suitcases, feeling the weight. Not too bad. I took another in my off hand. I could carry them. Now, what to do with them? I could call the police, but the ABB would probably get here first, and then I'd have accomplished nothing.

At the very least I could deny them resources. I closed my eyes and opened them in the dream. Putting the suitcases in piles, sorted by contents, I repeated the process until I had three moderately sized piles of illicit goods in my dream.

Did that make my subconscious an evidence locker? I chuckled as I closed the back door of the van. Now to clean out the house. I walked slowly to the door of the house, smiling broadly. Despite the lack of action, tonight had been a good nigh-

I didn't get to finish the thought, as a shock-wave sent me flying into the side of the van. That, hurt.

A figure wearing a black body suit and the mask of a demon approached me through the ashes of what was once the door.

Oni Lee.

[]

I forced myself upright, cradling my head. Would knocking me unconscious send me back into the dream? I hoped so, otherwise another grenade like that might leave me at Oni Lee's non-existent mercy. As I watched him approach me, slowly, I thought back to what I had read about him online. Short range teleportation, that left clones behind every time he did so, which dissolved into ash in the span of a few seconds, or if struck hard. He could use it with deadly proficiency in close quarters or simply set up a line of suicide bombers. A killer, and a good one at that. His profile suggested that everyone should keep their distance.

And now he was coming after me. I had gotten greedy. Something flickered on the edge of my perception and I ducked, what would have been a decapitating blow skimming over the top of my head. Dissolving my scabbard I pulled out my own sword, managing to block the next strike, this one coming from the left. The third strike passed through my arm like it wasn't even there. So far so good. I was lucky that he hadn't decided to simply open up with a carpet bombing. Maybe it wouldn't send the same message as my head on a pike.

I swung, my sword passing through the head of Oni Lee like it wasn't even there. A tiny flicker on the edge of my senses again, and it soon proved that he wasn't, his head coming apart in a mess of white ash. Another flicker and this time I moved, getting out of the way of an attack that should have taken me in the chest. He wasn't an expert swordsman, I realized, even as I tried to grasp that tiny flicker that seemed to herald his teleportation. He didn't need to be, his teleportation more than making for any mismatch in skill that might occur. So long as I could keep dodging, I had a chance.

He teleported in front of me, and I saw it. Sitting on his head, feet in Oni Lee's ears, sat a demon. It looked disturbingly like Oni Lee, but what was a mask on him was the demon's actual face, twisted into a gruesome leer. It flickered, once, twice. I could feel it, it was a nightmare, like Sophia's, and I could command it.

"Stop!" I barked, quick and sharp. The demon and Oni Lee flinched as one, and that gave me all the opening I needed. My sword darted forward, seeking his chest, connecting.

Nothing. No wound, no victory. It hardly even scratched his clothing. My sword, which had cut through stone, couldn't cut through his clothes?

My eyes widened in time to see the demon flicker, vanishing out of existence, before Oni Lee's clone kicked me in the gut.

Ow.

I stumbled backward, wary. He wasn't attacking, standing just a few feet away. All his clones had dissolved into dust, and he stared.

Then the assault renewed, and I was on the defensive again. I needed something that could hit him, my sword doing little more than blocking those hits that I couldn't expect to dodge, or my cloak to handle. I needed something to take him out with. Or even just use to escape with. Then, I felt something.

Sand, held in my fist. It wasn't a lot, but I could probably do something with it anyway. Even if it simply blinded him for a couple seconds, that would be enough to make my escape.

He teleported in front of me again and I sucked in a breath. I only had one shot at this.

Then the world exploded around me. I blinked, confused and looked down. I felt fine. Through the smoke I could see Oni Lee, and his demon. I lunged forward, getting in his face in an instant. I opened my hand and blew the sand into his face. The demon flickered, and the sand struck a clone. The clone stood there, blinking, almost seeming to fall asleep before it disappeared into white ash.

I only had a moment to wonder what that meant, before something hit me in the back of the head and I collapsed.

[]

I woke up in the throne room, bruised and battered, but alive. Around me were a number of suitcases.

I stood up shakily, looking around. Then I pumped my fist in the air with a shout.

I had done it!

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Gee, it's almost like her powers aren't meant for superheroics. Also, magic works best if you can't see the trick. Oni Lee shouldn't have used a grenade that obscured his vision. Who wants to bet when he suckerpunched her, Taylor's cloak fluttered just enough to block his view?
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	7. Eyes Wide Shut 1.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've got friction burns on my fingers.
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Eyes Wide Shut
> 
> 1.6

[]

It was the night after my confrontation with Oni Lee. I was standing in front of my pile of ill-gotten gains on the floor in front of the throne. I had been hoping to hand them in to the police in order to reassure that I wasn't another villain and to help bolster my reputation. As it was I'd have a hard time explaining exactly what I had done to them.

I poked one of them with my foot. Nope. Still wood.

In front of me stood three large chests, instead of three piles of suitcases. In one of the chests there was a large amount of gold coins and the odd piece of jewelery. In another, an armory, full of swords and maces and other things I couldn't confidently identify. And in the last... I wasn't exactly sure. It had made me feel rather giddy when I had smelled it and therefore I kept that chest closed. It had been pretty though, in an odd sort of way.

I glared at the chests. I was fairly sure what had happened. After all, guns and paper bills weren't exactly common in medieval fantasy castles. The closet analogy would be swords and gold coins. And most of my reading on the subject had agreed that dreams function more on signifiers and metaphor than one-to-one correlation. So it made sense, in a way. I just didn't like it. I didn't like it at all.

I also couldn't figure out how to reverse it.

So I stood glaring at the chests. I sighed. This was getting me nowhere. I waved them off. The dismissed chests vanished into sand before swirling off to who-knew-where in the castle. Probably a vault, I thought, pacing bitterly. It fit the theme.

That plan was out. Hell, at this rate I'd probably get a reputation as a villain! Who else would have use for that kind of thing?

I pushed those thoughts to the side and focused on a different problem. Namely, my powers. The sleep-inducing effects of the sand, as demonstrated on a few of the neighbourhoods less friendly cats, made a sort of sense. Even the almost uncanny ability of my cloak to blend into shadows made a sort of thematic sense. But the nightmares, if that's what they were, didn't. Why did some people have them and others not? Was it a result of trauma? Maybe, but it didn't seem evenly applied. There should be more than just two among all the people I'd seen. The other part, the way Oni Lee's seemed connected to his powers, suggested a different interpretation.

But how would be able to see powers relate to dreams at all? Let alone the ability to command them, however useful it might be. It just didn't make any sense. I glared at my sword, propped up against the throne. My cloak was useful. It hid me, disguised me and protected me all in one. But my sword wasn't able to cut Lee's body suit. I suppose I was fine with not having stabbed him. I didn't want to be murderess, not so fast and not like that.

What I did want, was for my sword to do its job! I glared at the blade. It was a bluish-silver and seemed almost crystalline. The edge was still sharp. I had checked. I hoped dad didn't notice the number I had done on the corner of the house. With a frustrated scowl I sheathed it and belted it on.

It might be good for intimidation, if nothing else.

I was going out.

[]

After the near-disaster of last night I was rather hesitant to go back into Azn Bad Boy territory. I didn't have much a choice however. Of the three gangs the ABB were the ones I was best quipped to deal with, having the fewest parahumans relative to the size of their territory. My encounter with Oni Lee had made it clear I wasn't ready for that level of combat, even if my power was well suited to combating his.

The fact that I found myself hiding in a building, watching Lung and a number of ABB thugs pass by soon after making that decision almost made me laugh. I kept my mouth shut. Lung supposedly had enhanced senses, and I had no desire to test their limits. The leader of the ABB was not only huge, he was a parahuman, a cape, whose power kept in a fight until he ended the fight. Around his thick neck coiled his nightmare, a dragon with flames spilling from its nostrils. I wondered if it was coincidence that made it match so thoroughly to the dragon tattoos on his broad shoulders and arms.

I attribute the fact I followed him to a chronic lack of common sense. I was using my power to jump from door to door behind him, my cloak keeping me undetected as I looked out and saw that Lung and his thugs had stopped and spread out. They were surrounding a building on the edge of ABB territory. I strained my ears to listen in.

"... after what happened last night they have to burn!" his voice was deep and gravelly. I'd heard he could turn into a dragon, and this was exactly the voice I would expect from someone with such a terrifying power. He kept talking. "Their little show out on the east side distracted us, as one of their little friends came around from behind, and fucked us in the ass! I want those kids dead, for what they did to us, and what they did to Oni Lee! If you see them, doesn't matter if their running, hiding, bleeding on the ground! Shoot them once, then shoot them again to be sure!" A murmur of assent came from the assembled thugs.

Oni Lee. Last night. He was angry about what I did. He was going to kill people because of what I did.

I had to do something. This was my fault, my responsibility. I couldn't fight him, even if I could screw with his power I wouldn't even come close. But that didn't mean I couldn't stop him. I looked up at one of the second floor windows of the building. There was a little bit of light coming from inside. His targets were in there. I closed my eyes, and opened the door.

[]

"What the fuck?" Well I was hardly expecting a warm welcome, but that was just rude. Inside the room stood four capes. Lung hadn't been kidding when had called them kids, they couldn't be much older than me! One, a blond girl in a simple domino mask, took a look at me and relaxed. She raised a hand, and the others seemed to stop. Good. I had just noticed the three huge dogs growling at me. I lifted my hands in the universal gesture for a pause in hostilities. Each of them had a nightmare on their shoulders. A dog, a king, and a cloud of shadows. The blond girl's was the most interesting, however. It was a miniature version of her wearing a brown suit. The nightmare's hair was shorter though, and brown. Maybe a sibling. All of them, nightmare and parahuman, stared at me.

"It's all right guys, she's okay. You're here to help aren't you?" I nodded, hands still in the air. The rest of them relaxed, though they still seemed suspicious.

"I take it you know that Lung is outside?" Another girl, also with blond hair but wearing a dog mask, seemed to scowl at me. It was hard to tell.

"Of fucking course we know he's there! What did you think we were doing here, having a goddamn tea party!" I backed up, even as the other girl talked her down, too quiet for me to hear. The tallest of the bunch looked at me. The skull mask and leathers were rather intimidating, but I pressed on.

"No, but we could have one later. Assuming, of course, that you take me up on my offer of getting out of here." The dog girl seemed ready to shout again, but the blonde cut her off.

"Mover then? Some sort of teleportation?" I nodded. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. I just don't want to see people die from my mistakes." She gave me an odd look. The last of the group, a slender boy with black curls dressed like some sort of noble, did a double take.

"Wait that was-," the blonde girl answered his unspoken question. I noticed her nightmare whisper into her ear. "Yes. Yes it was."

She turned to me and looked me up and down before nodding. "You know we're criminals, right?"

"I don't care," I replied, surprised with my own honesty. "You're still my responsibility."

"All right people, time to go." The others looked rather incredulous, but accepting nonetheless.

"Close your eyes," I opened the door, smiling a closed-eye smile. "And step through."

They did so, though I could feel their disbelief. The three dog-things growled at me as I passed. I chuckled and followed them in, the door closing behind me.

And when Lung burst into the last room in the house, he found nobody.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> A moment of levity. You don't have to fight Lung.
> 
> She's learning. She's just not doing it well. Also, the Dreaming cares more about concepts than petty things like mass or object permanence.
> 
> Criticism is appreciated!
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	8. Eyes Wide Shut 1.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Gates of Horn
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Eyes Wide Shut
> 
> 1.7

[]

I was in a part of the castle I'd never been to before. As I entered the cavernous room I noticed a few other, subtler oddities. The room was done in dark wood, from the floor to the high domed ceiling. The only source of illumination was a fire that burned in the centre of the massive circular table that sat in the middle of the room. The door shut behind me with hardly a sound. It was the only other feature in the space.

"Have a seat wherever!" I called. There weren't all that many choices. Despite the size of the table there were only seven chairs, placed equidistant around the circumference. I sat down, noting that the chair I chose had an engraving of a six-sided, faceted gem just above my head.

My guests were shuffling around, looking uncomfortable. Each time they would find a chair and sit down they would fidget and immediately get back up. It was almost funny. Almost.

"Just sit down!" I half ordered, half requested. They did so, fidgeting for a moment before seemingly calming down. In contrast their nightmares were spasming. They moved and squirmed so violently only their nature as illusions prevented them from pulling their possessors onto the floor. Silently I reached out and ordered them to stop. They did, becoming perfectly still. It was distracting. I noticed that the girl in the domino mask seemed to be panicking.

"What's wrong?" I leaned forward, my hood keeping my face concealed. She flinched, snapping her eyes to me so quickly I was almost afraid she'd give herself whiplash. On her shoulder her miniature stayed stock still.

"Where are we?" she hissed. Her face was pale. I blinked. Was that it?

I shrugged and sat back in the chair, idly examining the open book engraved over her head. "It's a place created by my powers. I never bothered to come up with a name for it. Do you want some tea?" A teacup was now in my hand, having formed out of silver sand as I had been talking. The saucer was in front of me. Similar teacups were in front of everyone else. They snapped backwards in their chairs so fast it looked like they had been shot.

"What should I call you, by the way?" I said, looking at all of them as I did so. They relaxed slightly and I smiled. No reason for this to end awkwardly. The blonde girl spoke first, staring at me intently.

"Collectively? The Undersiders," I blinked. "I'm Tattletale."

"Bitch," that would be the other girl.

"Grue," the boy in the motorcycle get up.

"Regent," supplied the last boy, leaning back on his chair so far I could hardly see the little heart engraved over his head. They looked at me expectantly. I winced. I still hadn't come up with a name. All right, when in doubt, keep it simple.

"Dream," I said, voice confident. "Call me Dream."

The girl in the domino mask nodded slowly. It looked almost like she was stalling for something. The her on her shoulder fidgeted. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to happen. She frowned.

"So Dream, care telling us what happened to our powers?" I shrugged. The other three at the table were not nearly so nonchalant, each looking around as if they could find some answers that way. Bitch seemed almost panicky, checking on each of her dogs in turn before looking at me, rage in her eyes. I didn't know what her problem was. They were fine. I sipped some of my tea.

It was good.

Bitch stood up, her chair sliding backwards as she did so.

"What did you do? Is this some kind of trap? Who are you working for?" She stood panting, shoulders tense. I wasn't afraid. If her powers really didn't work, and mine did, I had the advantage. Still, I probably didn't want to antagonize the angry criminal. I might run into them later, if nothing else.

"I honestly don't know," I replied, putting my teacup back on the table and raising my hands. "You guys are the first capes I've ever brought in here, to be honest. It's probably just a passive effect of this place."

The boy in the biker leathers, Grue, spoke up next. He was tall, all but covering the hooked ring engraved on the back of his chair. I'd have assumed he was the leader, if Tattletale hadn't done most of the talking.

"And what is 'this place'?" he asked, gesturing to encompass the room. I shrugged again. Even if they were guests, there was no point to telling them everything. Especially if they were criminals.

"Some sort of pocket dimension, I think." I took another sip of tea.

Regent raised his head to look at me through his mask.

"You think? How are we going to get out then? Where?" He looked calm, but I could see the sweat beading on the edge of his mask. Did they honestly think I was going to keep them here?

I rubbed my forehead. I had a headache.

I waved at the door. "Just think of a destination when you go out, and you should be there." They looked to one another, and grouped together. Apparently having agreed on a place they turned back to me. Tattletale spoke, her voice hesitant for the first time.

"Well... um, thanks, I guess. You really saved our asses back there. It's been nice." I smiled and gave them a friendly wave goodbye.

Strangely, even though it seemed that the Undersiders couldn't get out of the room fast enough, their nightmares seemed almost reluctant. Then the door closed and they were gone.

I took my glasses off and blinked again. Damn headache.

I looked around, noticing that no one else had touched their tea. I sighed. What a waste.

I looked at my own cup. Shrugging, I closed my eyes and finished it off. That was good tea. The cup vanished into silver sand as I sat back in my throne.

That had been interesting.

[]

It was three in the morning and I didn't feel tired at all. I was back on the edge of Azn Bad Boy territory, a different side from the one that I had rescued the Undersiders from. I suppose I felt proud, in a way, that I had managed to do right by them. It hadn't been their fault that they had been targeted. Or it wasn't entirely their fault, I thought, recalling what Lung had said. They were criminals.

I was so lost in thought I didn't notice that someone was in the alley next to me until they started speaking.

"Word on the street is you hit the ABB. Is that true?" The voice was cocky, but young. Probably not much older than me. That meant it was either a Ward or a villain. No one else would have the guts to talk to a cape like that and be that young. I turned slowly, my hand reaching for my sword.

"It might be. What would that mean to you?" I kept my tone light. If they were a Ward we could talk. A villain... I'd probably have to run.

"It would mean I'd have to offer you a compliment. What you did took balls. Facing Oni Lee like that... whew. What's your name, rookie?"

"Dream." Might as well keep it consistent. Not that it was likely for the Undersiders to spread the word, but still.

The figure stepped out of the shadows. She was covered in dark clothing, with a black hockey mask over her face. I knew that costume, she was-

"Shadow Stalker." she confirmed. Shadow Stalker stepped even further out of the shadows and now I could see something else. On her shoulder, hands running underneath the hood, was a shadow I knew. The shadow of-

"Sophia." I whispered. She was a Ward. She was a hero. She was a hero? I stood stock still, not noticing that I had said something. Shadow Stalker - Sophia Hess - on the other hand, did.

"What? How do you know tha- Hebert." She was growling, and her fist hit me before I could even process what had happened. Shit. Now I wasn't fighting Sophia, I was fighting Shadow Stalker. A Ward. A hero...

I dodged the second punch, by a hair.

...Someone I had hurt. She was angry, her voice a wordless sound of rage and pain. How much had I hurt her, talking about her shadow? How close had I struck? With nothing more than words.

I thought back to how I had felt when Emma had brought up my mother's death, my grief. The betrayal, the pain.

Was I any better than her, now?

I was distracted, my thoughts whirling like a typhoon. Shadow Stalker made me pay for it with a punch to the face that sent me sprawling on the ground.

She knew a lot more about fighting than I did. I had to talk fast.

"Sophia, I'm sorry for what I said earlie-" The punch that took me in the teeth was even stronger than the two before it. She was shouting at me.

"You're sorry?!" She pulled me up until I was level with her mask. "You're sorry now that I've beaten you up? After I showed that I had powers, that I couldn't be kicked around by some bitch who happened to get the right thinker trigger?!"

She headbutted me with her mask, breaking my glasses. Blood was dripping from my mouth and my nose. Nothing was broken. Yet. My hand grabbed the handle of my sword. Even if it wouldn't cut, it would give me something.

I smiled then, sad and bloodied. I tried again. Even if she didn't believe me, I had to say it.

"I really am sorry. Truly." She flinched, and drew back. An opening.

"Fuck your sorry!" She was about to headbutt me again.

I swung. She was fast, even if she was angry, letting go of me and dodging to the side. My sword missed her.

It took her shadow in the side.

Sophia - Shadow Stalker - screamed like she was dying and collapsed. She was spasming, and I could hear something, some sort of engine coming quickly in our direction.

I had to leave.

I turned to her, her convulsions having calmed down somewhat, her body alternating between shadow and colour at random. She was sobbing.

"I'm sorry."

I ran to the nearest door and vanished.

[]

It was five in the morning and I was home for the last time. I couldn't stay here, not with what had happened. The Protectorate would be after me. I had just assaulted one of their members, after discovering her identity.

I was busy penning a letter to my dad, explaining to him what had happened, apologizing for keeping so many secrets from him when I heard a knock on the door.

They were here. I was out of time.

"Mr. Hebert?"the voice came from the other side of the door, deep and serious. "I am Armsmaster representing the Brockton Bay Protectorate. I would like to speak with with you about an incident that may have involved your daughter, Taylor? Mr. Hebert?"

A pause.

The voice continued, even more serious now. "Mr. Hebert if you do not open this door I have authorization to break it down. I understand the time might be an inconvenience but we could be dealing with a dangerous parahuman. Mr. Hebert?'

More knocking. I had to leave now-

"Taylor?" It was my dad. "What are you doing up so early?"

I stood still. In the background I could hear a noise. The Halberd. Our door opened, it's lock cut cleanly. In stepped Armsmaster, his visor covering his eyes and nose, his mouth set into a frown. When he saw me he pulled the Halberd in front of him.

He thought I was a threat. Armsmaster, leader of the Brockten Bay Protectorate, thought I was a threat. I could laugh. I could cry. I did neither. I hardly noticed the mass of gadgets that stood on his shoulders, arms crossed.

When did it all go so wrong?

Where did my dream of being a hero go?

I sobbed then, choking.

"Ms. Hebert, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me." His voice was sad. I stopped. Go with him, be known as a criminal? A villain?

"Taylor, what's going on?" My dad was so confused, hurt plain on his face.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't face it.

"I'm sorry."

"Ms. Hebe-" "Taylor wha-"

"I can't"

"Ms. Hebert you put one of my Wards in a psychiatric hospital. Her powers still aren't behaving as they should. We can't let that sort of thing slide." His mouth was set in a hard line, surrounded by his neat beard. But my dad. My dad was staring at us, looking back and forth, wide-eyed. Shocked.

Scared.

I had to leave. Now.

I flung the sand in my hands into both of their faces and raced upstairs. I could hear shouts coming from downstairs, and a thump, and tears streamed freely down my face.

I opened my bedroom door and escaped into the dream.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Change Places, everyone! Canon has left the building!
> 
> Extra long chapter!
> 
> Before anyone asks, the reason they cannot see their shoulder-demons is because, to them, it isn't a dream. If Taylor met someone with powers in a dream (or if they were insane) then they'd see them. For now though, they are merely a shadow in the corner of their eyes, until someone realizes what is going on.
> 
> Powers would normally work in the dream, unless Dream wills otherwise. They are in her domain. Only the strongest would even have a chance of defiance.
> 
> I'm not actually sure as to canon!Taylor's opinion on tea, but I felt it was appropriate. Write it off as "Dream-perfect-tea" or something if she doesn't.
> 
> Sophia needs a hug right about now. I really liked the reversal. Armsmaster isn't that big of a prick. Not in this situation. There are protocols.
> 
> But the more things change, the more they stay the same. Taylor is once again in the PRT's not-bad, but certainly not-nice books. She has a tendency to over-react, doesn't she? Wonder where that trait came from?
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	9. Eyes Wide Shut 1.∞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Eyes Wide Shut
> 
> 1.∞

[]

I couldn't believe what was happening. Taylor, my daughter, a parahuman wanted by the PRT. A cape, one that had put another cape in the hospital.

My daughter. Willing to knock out both the head of the local Protectorate and me in order to escape. Which she had done. Successfully.

I sat alone in the meeting room. In front of me there was a package, in a nice, bland, manila envelope. It was a briefing on Dream, a dangerous new parahuman. My daughter. I shook my head. It still hadn't sunk in.

What was in the envelope was even more disturbing. Thinker 4?, Mover 4?, Striker 2?, Tinker ?, Trump ? Power ratings. An unusually broad range of powers, from what little I knew. The Thinker category, for whatever she had done to the Ward, how she had known things that Shadow Stalker and everyone else had thought hidden. Mover, for her vanishing act. Striker, for the odd, incapacitating sand. Tinker, suspected due to the oddness of her equipment. Most terrifyingly, Trump, unrated, for how she interacted with other peoples powers.

I thought of Shadow Stalker, in her hospital bed. They had decided to show me a video. Why, I didn't know. What I did know, was that the image of the Ward, shaking on the bed, slipping between shadow and reality, would follow me into my dreams tonight.

That wasn't the important part. So what, if my daughter had powers? She might never have used them.

It was the next part of the envelope that was damning. An attack on the Azn Bad Boys, done in conjunction with other wanted criminals. Somehow she had managed to clear out most of one of their safehouses, if rumor was to be believed. If you wanted to listen to rumor it got worse. She was confronted by Oni Lee and fought him. Supposedly Oni Lee had come out the worse for the encounter.

I wasn't sure how to feel about that. My daughter, fighting supervillains? Should I be proud? Scared? If that was all I might be both. But the file had another fight in it.

Shadow Stalker. According to the PRT, she had met up with Taylor right after midnight. To offer congratulations, and a placement in the Wards. But then Taylor had said something, and they were fighting. The fight ended with Shadow Stalker on the ground, screaming her lungs out, and Taylor slipping away before back-up could arrive.

They still didn't know what had happened. The PRT and the Protectorate were looking for her, but if they had found her after her vanishing act they certainly hadn't told me.

Behind me a door opened. I didn't react. Armsmaster and Director Piggot stepped around the table, the head of the local PRT taking a seat opposite, Armsmaster standing off to the side. Neither of them looked particularly happy. They stared at me for a moment. I stared at the floor.

"We would like you to know that the chance of legal repercussions falling on you specifically is slim." the Director was speaking. Was she trying to be reassuring? I looked at her. My daughter was a parahuman wanted in connection for putting another cape in the hospital and they thought I was thinking about lawsuits?

...Damn it, but it was something. I had enough problems to worry about without ending up in court.

It wasn't until the Director starting speaking that I realized I had said it out loud.

"Quite. Much of the time parents of parahumans are completely unaware of their children's own status, and so, assuming your testimony is true, you cannot be held accountable." Her brow furrowed. "Of course if we find out you were aware of you daughter's... nocturnal activities, you may well be charged with aiding and abetting."

I flinched. I couldn't see her mouth behind her clasped hands, but I was fairly sure she was frowning. Of course, she looked like the sort of person who did that chronically. I had to ask.

"Please. My daughter..." Now Armsmaster was frowning. Was that good? I noted, a bit hysterically, that I was considering something the upset the leader of the local Protectorate as good. What had happened to my life?

"We don't know. After her... incapacitation of Armsmaster and yourself she vanished. We haven't found a trace of her." Now they were both frowning. Armsmaster twitched a little as the word 'incapacitation' came up. "Do you have anything you might be able to offer? We want to help. This is for her safety as well as that of everyone else. Lone capes rarely last long without making themselves useful to somebody. If it's not us, it will likely be criminals. They will doubtless be interested in someone with her demonstrated powers." The other option was left unspoken. If she was powerful enough, willing enough, she could follow the route of Nilbog. Sleeper. Ash Beast and Jack Slash. There weren't all that many of them, capes strong enough to flout the law. I couldn't tell what was the worse option. I nodded mutely.

Piggot continued. "Her best option is to turn herself in, undo the damage she has done. Otherwise we will have to assume she is a villain, and react accordingly." I was numb. My words were faint, rasping across my tongue.

"Why..." This time it was Armsmaster who replied.

"Shadow Stalker still hasn't recovered from whatever it is that your daughter did to her." His voice was hard. "I've been in her room, I heard her screams. She's in pain because of whatever happened last night. Her powers still don't function properly. Add that to her ability at making escapes and non-lethal takedowns?" His voice was acid in my ears, dark and bitter. "Every criminal in Brockton Bay and beyond will want her when they find out. What did you think we were going to do?" Director Piggot shot him a look, but he stood tall. He had crossed a line and didn't care. My hands curled, unable to truly form into fists. "Now, one last time. Is there anything you can tell us?" I shook my head, tears pricking at my eyes.

Pathetic. What sort of father was I? Didn't know anything, couldn't do anything. Absolutely pathetic.

Armsmaster left frowning. Now it was only me and Director Piggot. She put her hands on the table. I could see her face fully. She sighed, straightening her back. She stood up.

"That's... unfortunate. As it stands, if she does not turn herself in within 24 hours the parahuman known as 'Dream' will be labeled as a villain by the PRT. If she does contact you, you will tell us."

I nodded weakly and she went to the door. She looked over her shoulder.

"We're sorry we couldn't do more."

She left, and I was alone.

[]

I was sitting on my bed, staring at the note that Taylor had written to me. The PRT already had their own copies. After careful examination she had let me have the original. I'd read it already, but I couldn't help but look at it again. It was quite possibly the only thing of Taylor I'd have for a long time.

Her normally neat handwriting was cramped and hurried, alternating between print and cursive without regard to style. Only speed. Most of it wasn't all that interesting, brief explanations of what she had been doing and how long. Two months. Two months and I hadn't noticed a thing.

It was the last line that was the worst. The writing was almost runic, rushed. She must have barely finished this before Armsmaster had arrived. I read the line again.

Cutting ties. I'm sorry

Four words. Just four words that haunted me until I fell asleep. My eyes closed and I drifted off.

I was standing before a pair of massive gates, made of horn. I didn't know why, but I knew I had to get inside. The gates opened with barely a touch and I raced inside, my feet kicking up silver sand as I ran. I had to get inside. My feet pounded marble steps as I went towards the castle that loomed before me, like something out of a dream. The staircase was long, and seemed to stretch on for forever. Finally, however, I managed to reach the top of the staircase and approached a pair of massive doors, flanked by equally oversized pedestals. It wouldn't budge. I slammed on the door, pushed on it until my fists bled. I couldn't stop here! I had to get inside!

I had to see her again!

The doors opened, slowly, grudgingly. I stepped inside, my earlier madness evaporating. Inside was a magnificicent throne room, vast and opulent. Massive marble pillars sent dark shadows criss-crossing the opalescent floor, light in a million different colours streaming in from the windows, where scenes out of the greatest stories ever to be told played out in the flowing of the glass. At the end of the hall sat a throne, simple in comparison to the opulence of the space. It was flanked by hundreds of doors, each unique, each barred. I didn't care about any of that.

Because there, sleeping on a throne that seemed crafted to her proportions, was Taylor. Her face, pale like snow and planed like marble, was streaked with tears. A black cloak, flecked with stars was wrapped around her, and her hair shifted when she moved, like ink in water. Across her knees lay a blue-steel sword. She looked beautiful, this daughter of mine. And so tired.

I reached for her face, barely noting the intervening space, and wiped away the remnants of tears. I couldn't do more.

This was a dream, after all. It had to be.

That didn't mean it wasn't true.

She stirred and her eyes, dark and bright in turns, opened. A shift, and she looked at me.

"...Dad?"

I woke up. My face was wet with tears. I wiped them away and smiled, without fully knowing why.

I couldn't help but feel that she was going to be alright.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> First Act done! Thread Up!
> 
> He's definitely Taylor's dad.
> 
> Armsmaster, learn some tact, please! He's kind of sore right now. Also, Piggot isn't that good at giving a shoulder to cry on, but protocol is protocol.
> 
> Taylor doesn't want to talk to anyone right now.
> 
> Dream Sequences are where I get to be as flamboyant as possible! Don't take them away from me!
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	10. Rapid Eye Movements 2.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This looks like a job for...
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Rapid Eye Movements
> 
> 2.1

[]

I could have sworn... No. It must've been a dream. I stood up from the throne, looking around. This was going to be my home for the foreseeable future. I wasn't sure what I was going to do for food. Though, judging by the tea party it might not be problem. I was glad my cloak was so comfortable.

I looked out the window. It was raining, a heavy torrential downpour that pounded the sands outside into strange shapes. How appropriate. It matched about how I was feeling right now.

What was I going to do?

I couldn't go outside without being hunted down by the PRT. I had no illusions on that score. I had attacked one of their parahumans, and I doubt they'd accept my justification. If I pleaded self-defense it would be my word against hers, and she was the one in the hospital.

As for me... I felt my face, fingers probing. No sign of any injury, no sign of anything at all. I sighed. Should worst come to worst I could always pay using the money I had taken from the Azn Bad Boys Safehouse. Sure it wouldn't be legal tender, but I don't think anyone would complain if I paid them in gold coin. I chuckled before moving towards the library. If I was going to live here, I might as well get used to the place. One gratuitously long flight of stairs later I was heartily regretting my decision. Who designed this castle anyway? That was the kind of thing I'd include in a castle... when I was in kindergarten. 

I looked around. The library had changed, subtly. The stained-glass windows, full of scenes of famous philosophers whom I couldn't recognize, were the same as they always were. Same for the hard wood floor, and the marble walls. The bookcases seemed slightly lengthened, I thought.They seemed to be taking up more space than before. But what attracted my attention was the new piece of furniture. A ledger on a pedestal. It's first page was open. I walked over to it, and looked inside. The ledger listed four books in the library. The Merrie Comedie of the Redemption of Doctor Faustus, which I had taken out already. The other name I knew already, and I scowled at the sight of The Disquieting Tale of the Fall of Sophia Hess, written in neat black letters on the first page of the ledger. I didn't want to be reminded of that, not right now.

The last two books, on the other hand, were considerably more interesting. The Manifestation of Dreams by a Reverend Sigmund Freud, seemed to continue the theme of books being similar, but different in this library. For one, it seemed to be an allegorical work of fiction. I resolved to give it a look later. Perhaps it would help me. The last one confused me for a while, until I turned my head and what was formerly a mess of unrecognizable symbols twisted into a name I could recognize. Oni Lee. I frowned. These books seemed to be related to... what? The parahumans I had fought with?

Below that the names were too faint and messy to make any sense of. Disappointing. Still, I might find something useful in one of these books. I decided to get started, and walked into the shelves to try and find them.

I had nothing better to do.

It wasn't like I could go out and be a hero again.

[]

I was partway through the first chapter of The Manifestation of Dreams and making little progress. The author seemed to delight in making the symbolism as tortuous as possible, and deliberately ruined any sort of grammar or even plot to do so. The rain had lessened a bit, but was still casting shifting shadows across the floor of the hall. I didn't know where I was getting enough light to read with. I supposed it was the same mechanism that was letting me read without my glasses. You hardly needed to see in a dream.

I realized I hadn't had breakfast yet. Or would it be lunch? Well, whatever meal it was now the appropriate time for, I hadn't eaten. I was hungry. I set down the book. The main character, Daniel, had just pulled off his human skin and turned into an animal. It was an interesting image, but hardly the kind of lurid description you wanted to read when you were eating.

Speaking of eating... I felt around in my pockets. A couple gold coins jingled back. I had been right. I did have a treasure vault. It was mostly empty, but the gold I had already should keep me fed and clothed at the very least for quite a while. I wondered if I should get a computer and I shrugged. Later, perhaps.

In front of the door out I paused. What food was I going to get? Pancakes would be nice, I decided and reached for the door. Before I could open it and step into the International House of Pancakes I was picturing in my head a smell reached my nose.

Pancakes. I peered around the corner. One of the doors, this one next to the stairs to the library, was open. I cocked an eyebrow, surprised. I head checked those doors before. Without fail each had let to a blank wall. What had changed?

I had to investigate. Pulling my cloak tighter around my shoulder I poked my head through the door. Inside, there was an eat-in kitchen, a plate of pancakes bigger than my head resting on the small wooden table. Something was off, however. A faint mist clung to everything, painting the scene a pale white. It felt... happy. Content. I walked inside quietly, not wishing to disturb the idyl.

I picked up a pancake and ate it.

It was... perfect. There was no other way to describe it. It was bright Sunday mornings, warm blankets and cold milk. It was waking up with a smile, and someone beside you. It was love. My mind was spinning, even as I bit into the perfect pancake. A dream. This had to be a dream. I relaxed, letting myself enjoy the experience, and looked around. It was a happy place. Much more pleasant than my father's dream.

Wait. I could hear someone coming down the stairs. I pulled back, letting my cloak flow around me as I slipped into the 'kitchen' part of the eat-in kitchen. I hid, not wanting to disturb whoever was having this dream. It would be too cruel.

From around the corner appeared a mousy brunette. Her hair was short, and she wore a white shift that, bizarrely, had a red cross on the front and back. She seemed familiar. I watched her as she came into the kitchen, looking around. Her eyes had rather severe bags under them.

"Victoria? Is that you?" There was no response. The girl shrugged and sat down. She began eating the pancakes. One, two, three... I knew it was a dream, but honestly! What is it about the pancakes that had her acting like she was in a trance?

She kept eating, the plate of pancakes not getting any smaller. I heard a creaking sound from the porch. I snapped my head to the door. Was someone else in this dream? Or was it a construct, like the people on the street in my father's had been?

"Come in." said the girl, not bothering to turn around. She looked distracted. I noticed that the plate was empty. How...? I shook my head. The door was opening.

The door opened and in stepped the most perfect person I'd ever seen. She glowed, lit from some fire inside her. Her hair shone like gold, and her skin was bronze. She wore a dress of pure white and was crowned with a golden tiara. Her presence filled the room. She walked forward and wrapped her arms around the shorter girl, who started with a yelp.

"Victoria!"

Her words snapped me out of whatever state I had been in. I shook my head and refocused. If dreams could affect me like that... They were far more dangerous than I had thought.

"Hey sis." spoke the golden girl. Sisters, then? Some sort of admiration for her big sister, or something? Now that I could look clearly I noticed a few flaws, washed out in the radiance that had accompanied her before. Her features were... simplified. Disregarded perspective and anatomy in subtle ways. I grimaced. Now that I could see... it looked almost ugly. Still, some sort of sibling heart-to-heart, in a place like this? It was a nice place to be.

Imagine my surprise when I saw the golden girl lean in for a kiss, and felt the dream unravel.

"Stop!"

And it did. The mist was thicker now, obscuring almost everything but the couple. The sisters. I felt the faintest stirrings of disgust, and ignored them. That wasn't the real problem, and besides, judging by the completely different appearances, they were adopted siblings. The mousy girl blinked. She was the only thing other than me that still moved. That still could move. She turned to me, her face red.

"What did you do?" No questions about who I was? Strange.

"I stopped it-" I wanted to talk, was what I was about to say. She cut me off, face twisted.

'Why?" she asked, voice anguished.

"Because your love isn't real." It was harsh but true. I couldn't deny her feelings, that wasn't my place, but the object...

It was a figment, and only was real in the dream. No one in the real world could be like that. She stepped back as though I had punched her.

"That's not true!"

She was crying. I pressed on, voice sad but firm.

"It is, don't you see? Look at her!" I gestured to the golden girl, Victoria. "No real person can look like that! No real person can be like that! When you wake up, all you will have is disappointment!"

"Then let me have that!" She shouted, and stepped back into the statue's embrace. She leaned forward and completed the kiss, tears on her face.

I felt the dream dissipate even as the door slammed in my face.

I sat down on the floor, exhausted. Of course the happy dream would be based on a lie. What else could I have expected? That girl needed serious help-

Help. I could help. Maybe not with her, but other people who had troubles that I could see in their dreams and do something about. I could still be a hero, even if it was only in dreams.

I could do this.

On my right a door opened up, and I heard a young girl crying.

And I was gone.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Things are going to be episodic for a little while.
> 
> Taylor is the best emo teen. The best.
> 
> She doesn't have super-healing (yet). The reason lies in the previous interlude.
> 
> Silly Taylor, all happiness is an illusion in the Wormverse!
> 
> She doesn't want another person's dreams to end in despair.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	11. Rapid Eye Movements 2.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Echoes, echoes, echoes...
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Rapid Eye Movements
> 
> 2.2

[]

The white snake twisted above me, over and around the bars of the cage. It never seemed to end, coiling endlessly. It's width was far less than most people would expect given it's length, only about as wide as a man's wrist. It stared down with dead eyes, before looking away.

I sat below it. Around me was a bed of flower petals. The smell of them drifted around me, pulling me back into sleep. I ignored them. Sleep could wait. I had to get out of here. I looked up at the snake. It was long, and covered most of the exits. But not all. A rush of noise, a flurry of images. I could see it. The path.

The walls of the cell were cracked brick and stone, like something out an ancient medieval castle. My hands were small enough to fit through the cracks, and I scrambled up the wall quickly. My movement was stutter-step, though nothing was striking at me. I was dodging possibilities. The noise in my head, the hateful, wretched noise, soon drowned out everything else in a flurry of images and disjointed voices. I ignored it, even as the pressure built up behind my eyes. This was my chance. Things-that-could-be were cast aside into unreality as the probability I wanted unfolded before me, lit up in gold. It would work. It had to work. My mind nearly splitting in half I neared the top of the cage.

The snake doubled then, two ghostly white snakes instead of one. The path, the golden path, my yellow brick road... crumbled. Parts once safe were now deadly, and a swipe of a long white tail sent me crashing back into the flower bed. The snake looked down at me. It looked smug, like it knew it would win. And it would. I saw that too. The two snakes were one again, and it coiled itself around the bars of the prison.

As I stayed on my back, unmoving and surrounded by red petals, I could feel the tears streaming down my face.

I was never getting out of here.

[]

Something had changed. There was a girl in her cell, a door slamming shut behind her. The girl looked odd, something about her not quite adding up. Her hair, long and dark, was fine. Her face, pale and angular, seemed normal. Even her clothes, as strange as a dark robe and sword were, didn't seem all that strange. But when taken as a whole... I blinked.

This was someone new. She was looking at me, paying close attention to my wrists before looking up to the cage above us. Her face grew dark and menacing as a scowl spread across her face. Then her expression smoothed and she walked towards me. Crouching so that her eyes were looking at mine I realized something else. She couldn't be much older than me. She looked over my shoulder and stood up.

Wow. She was tall. She looked back at me and smiled.

"How would you like to get out of here?" I stared at her for a moment, not understanding. Then it clicked and I began to nod vigorously. I called for the path. The rush of colour and sound came, but it seemed... confused. My head felt like it was about to split in two already. I curled, noticing her take a step back.

She said something and the pain stopped. So did the path. I looked up, my eyes wide. She was looking down at me in... concern? She was worried? I wet my lips and nodded.

"Y-Yes." I swallowed. If she could get me out of here...

"If you c-can, could you bring me to my parents?" Her face softened, and she nodded.

"Sure." She offered her hand. I took it, and she pulled me to my feet. "But first we have to get out of here."

We both looked up. The white snake loomed above us. She frowned. Then she started climbing.

"Wait!" She looked at me, eyebrow raised. "The snake! It can split into two, and choose to be the one that does better. You can't just beat it up!" She cocked her head before smiling.

"Oh, is that all?" She kept climbing, fearless. Once she got close enough to the snake she pulled out her sword and slashed. She slashed at random, trying to hit the snake wherever she could. But the snake was crafty, and every time the sword would strike it would only strike a shadow, cut through a bar of the cage. But she kept smiling, a tiny smirk that told of a hidden joke. She swung again, but this time threw her sword.

It passed harmlessly between the two snakes. They turned to watch it fly, suspicious.

"Gotcha."

The girl jumped and grabbed the section of the cage she had cut out. The same cage that the twin snakes were coiled around.

"Get out of the way!" She cried, still hanging on to the cage. She was pulling it down, and bringing the snakes with it. I ran to the side of the cell and began climbing, trying to get a head start. I saw the girl drop past me, her starry cloak fluttering. Right behind her fell the snakes. She rolled out of the way and left them there, climbing the walls of the cell herself.

"Go on. Faster!" Below us the snake writhed, trying to escape the now reversed prison. We climbed out, passing through the large gaps in what was left of the cage. I saw outside the cage for the first time in forever. Sure, it wasn't all that great, just a few torches and a hallway. The girl ran over to her sword, which was stuck in a wall. She stopped, thinking about something, before grabbing one of the torches on the wall. She handed it to me.

"Do the honors." she swept a hand towards the age and I grinned. I raced over and dropped the torch inside. The flower petals, red as blood before, became an entirely different red as the fire consumed it. I could hear the snake screaming. The tears that ran down my face were tears of joy.

My cheeks hurt. The girl was smiling too.

"You know, we still need to get out of here." She gestured to the door. I frowned, calling upon the path again. A streak of gold-

The path disappeared.

"Wait a second. Before you try anything, could you tell me if you see something where I'm pointing?" The girl was pointing over my shoulder, her expression serious. I nodded. Turning around, I was prepared to see a lot of things.

A beautiful woman, her skin dark and hair wavy, covered in veils was not one of them. The bowl she held in one hand simply made it weirder. She looked oddly familiar though.

"Oracle." It was the girl again, this time addressing the woman. The Oracle. "Why are you hurting her?"

The Oracle shook her head mutely, pointing towards herself. She pointed up, towards the ceiling. Or the sky. My rescuer turned to me, frowning.

"Um... What's your name? I just realized I had no clue." She grinned sheepishly, her body settling in at an odd angle. "I'm... Dream, I suppose. You?"

"Dinah. I'm Dinah. Alcott." Her eyes widened and she leaned back in surprise.

"The mayor's niece?" I nodded, "Huh. Wow." She shrugged.

"So, Dinah. I think you might have some sort of special power. Do you think you could use it?" I tensed, and she stepped back. "You don't have to, if you don't want to. I just want to help. I think it has something to do with her-" Her eyes flicked over to the Oracle, standing still behind me. "-and that I can help make it hurt less."

"Hurt less?" She nodded quickly. I thought about it. It didn't take long.

"All right. Here it goes." I reached for the path, the now familiar lines of gold stretching ahead of me, of into the future. They seemed to go forever. The noise was there too , though. The constant scream in the background. It started to hurt and I stopped. Dream was staring at me. Us. She looked back and forth between me and the Oracle before nodding. She gestured to the Oracle.

"Come here." The Oracle stepped towards her, hands clasped. She looked... nervous? Dream put her hands on the Oracle's head, thumbs on her temples. She closed her eyes, concentrating. Every once in a while she would flinch, but she stood strong, her mouth set in a determined line. Finally, after what had seemed like ages, she let go. A satisfied look on her face she turned to me.

"Try again." I was hesitant, but she seemed confident and I didn't think she wanted to hurt me. I reached for the path again, flinching preemptively.

Nothing. Blessed silence. I couldn't keep the tears out of my eyes as I saw the paths extend to infinity. Beside me, the Oracle was similarly overcome and rushed to hug the girl who had helped us. I joined her, and we hugged a surprisingly rigid Dream. She relaxed quickly though, and gave us a brief hug in return before breaking it apart.

"Better?" she asked, knowing the answer. I nodded vigorously, wiping the tears from my eyes. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned to see the Oracle, her own eyes shiny.

"Well then," our savior continued, unaware of what she had done. "I think it's time for us to leave then?"

We nodded.

"You said you wanted to visit your parents right?"

"Yeah. I mean, if it's not a problem for you?" I glanced at the Oracle.

She looked like my mother.

Dream nodded and held out her hands. We each took one, forming a circle.

"Close your eyes."

And we were in a graveyard. Despite the sun hanging high in the sky the air was cold, and a grey fog hung over everything.

In front of us were two graves. My parents.

"Well... here we are." Her voice was apologetic. It shouldn't have been. I walked forward and knelt before the graves. Only a month. I'd been there only a month. I traced the names of my parents, expecting to cry. I wanted to cry.

But no tears came.

"...Thank you." I whispered, voice raw. She blinked, surprised, before nodding in acknowledgement. The Oracle was behind me, a comforting presence, her hand on my shoulder.

Dream came up beside me, looking down at the headstones. She seemed thoughtful, her eyes distant.

"They were your parents, and you loved them." I nodded., face twisting. "You can cry now. It's okay. Sometimes people have to cry, to move on."

I sobbed then, and didn't stop for a long time. My nose ran, my face grew hot and blotchy as I cried. I screamed, too, held in the Oracle's arms.

Dream looked on, face sad. That was fine. This wasn't her place.

Finally, though, the crying stopped and I stood up.

"Take me somewhere safe." I said, still looking at the graves. Oracle's arms were draped over my shoulders. I found their weight comforting. Dream nodded.

She swept her cloak over me, and I slept.

[]

When I woke up, it was to someone poking me.

"Hey kid, you all right? Do you want to come inside?"

I nodded, and I was helped into the building. They kept talking.

"You're in the New York Headquarters of the PRT. What's your name?"

As the last bit of sleep left my eyes, I swore I could feel a pair of arms around me. The paths stretched ahead of me, brilliant and long. Bright like the sun.

I didn't hurt.

"Dinah. Dinah Alcott."

I stepped into the New York PRT office, home of Legend, even as dawn heralded a new day in the city.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> This one was a pain. I'm going to alternating between Taylor and whoever she's interacting with for the duration of Act 2. It's more of a character and setting development thing than really heavy duty plot stuff. Right now things are just going to get set up. Also fitting the Delirium Act.
> 
> If you're going to complain about the internal voice of Dinah, please think about what it would have meant if I had written it like a 12 year old would have. I know 12 year olds. It would be awful. So, internal monologues are mostly concepts. Her dialogue should be simplistic though. And I did try. Just not really hard. Let's assume she's precocious and move on. Sorry. I know it's a failing.
> 
> She's also not as addicted as she was in canon, though that isn't important to the plot. Since I couldn't find a date, it's only been a couple of weeks. 2 months on the outside.
> 
> So many consequences. It's not quite Contessa broken... but that's only because she doesn't have the perfect execution.
> 
> Of course it would be the Oracle at Delphi. Also, I chose to interpret her powers differently because... reasons. Important reasons. I love reading the thread, so many people either getting real close, or missing by a mile. It makes me feel happy, right there.
> 
> When you're in a dream you accept the basic premises. Taylor will have to practice/grow more before she can just no sell a major aspect of a dream. In this case, confinement. So she improvised. After she's out of the cage she's more free to do something. Especially after breaking more, metaphorical chains. The gods are pricks. Even Apollo.
> 
> The Protectorate is feeling upstaged. And Coil is pissed. And isn't nearly as much of a pushover as snake!Coil. Or maybe moreso. Vagueness!
> 
> Everyone should remember. Narrators are unreliable.
> 
> Why did Taylor not give her 'real' name? Part of it's trying to make a name for herself as a hero, but that's not all.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	12. Rapid Eye Movements 2.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May or may not be an anthropomorphic personification.
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Rapid Eye Movements
> 
> 2.3

[]

I was walking down the streets of New York and no one seemed to notice. This was normal. Everyone had their own troubles, after all. They didn't have the time to inspect every person who walked by. What was less normal was what I was wearing. Cloaks had gone out of style quite a while ago. So had wearing a sword. Still, as I made my way through the crowds no one seemed to notice the obviously-a-cape walking among them. Or maybe they were too polite to stare.

Ha.

I smiled. I felt happy. Happier than I'd felt in a while. Happier than I was after beating Oni Lee. I had helped someone, rescued a little girl. For the first time since the incident with Sophia in the bathroom I felt happy with my powers. I had wandered into Times Square. The tall buildings, rebuilt after Behemoth's attack, cast long shadows across the wide space. The iconic screens on the buildings ran news feeds from across the world, interrupted by the occasional ad. A cacophony of sounds rushed around me. I could smell the hot dog stands, open even on one of the coldest days in February. The rumble of cars and trains passed through the ground into my feet and I luxuriated in the nip of frost on my nose.

I spread my arms wide and drank it in. The honk of a car quickly snapped me out of my reverie and I stepped out of it's way. There were better places to meditate. Safer ones, at any rate. I crossed the street and passed by an artist selling sculptures. I bent down and examined them, noting the attention to detail, the craftsmanship. I frowned. Something was missing. The pieces were superbly done, but no more than that. Simply high quality imitations of older artists. I picked one up, hefting it. It didn't seem as heavy as it should be. I shook my head. Who was I to judge? I put the sculpture back down, ready to leave. I felt surprisingly angry. They irritated me.

"You want to buy one?" I looked up. I hadn't noticed him there. I shook my head, hair falling into my eyes. It was nice, but it wasn't what I was looking for.

"You sure?" he asked again, voice gaining an edge of desperation. I looked around. No one else was even stopping to look at them. Maybe they saw the same thing that I did. Or maybe they were simply too busy. I shook my head, looking him in the eyes. He had nice eyes.

"No," I said. He deflated, shoulders slumping. He looked rather unique, now that I had time to look. Red hair contrasted with dark skin. He looked young. Not as young as me, but still. I had an excuse.

"What's your name?" He looked back up at me, eyes half-closed.

"... Robert. Robert Hoskins." I nodded, standing up.

"So, Robert Hoskins, you want to be an artist I take it?" His eyes opened fully and he stared at me. He nodded slowly. "Then why do you do this?" I gestured sharply at the pieces on the tarp in front of him, my voice growing louder. "This isn't art! It's mimicry, imitation! Where's the heart of these pieces, Robert Hoskins, where's your soul?" He leaned back, eyes slitted. Then he slumped.

A small chuckle.

"You know, my art teacher said almost the same thing? That I hadn't really put myself in the pieces, whatever that was supposed to mean. I mean, I tried, right?" He picked up one of the sculptures. "It's funny. They always say to write -sculpt- what you know, right? When I was younger I always said I didn't know anything, and I was right. That hasn't changed. How can I do that, if I don't have anything?" He put the piece down, face sad. "At least there's something in the old stuff. My dad..." He trailed off and looked to me.

"Know what I mean?" I nodded.

"You don't think you have enough experience, or self-knowledge, to really put yourself into your work?"

"Yeah, basically." He leaned back, relaxing.

"Well, that's easy enough to fix." I shrugged. Might as well. "Take my hand." He stared at me and raised his hands in the air, a blush staining his dark cheeks.

"Look lady, if this-"

"Just take my hand!" I snapped, my own blush hidden beneath the hood. He looked at me funny, but did.

No one was looking at the sculptures, standing alone on their tarp.

[]

He stumbled as we landed, somewhere in the desert. All around us silver sands stretched out to infinity. He stumbled, squinting his eyes. Above us the sun blazed. I was lucky I had my cloak on. As pale as I was I would cook red like a lobster in this sun. He looked around with his hand over his eyes. He was obviously searching for some sign of human settlement. He didn't find anything. He spun to me, tripping on the sand as he did so. I stared at the finger he was pointing at me, waving up and down.

"How- What- Where?" He took a few deep breaths, toweling the sweat that was already beading on his forehead off with his shirt. He squinted at me suspiciously, and I had to fight to keep my face neutral. He looked rather funny. "You're a cape, aren't you?" I smirked.

"Got it in one. Wasn't the whole 'cloak and sword' thing a bit of a give away, though?" I gestured down at my form, my cloak untouched by the sands. Convenient.

"Yeah, but- Nevermind." He shook his head. "Where are we?"

I ignored what he meant and answered, "The desert. You needed to find yourself. What better way to do that, than to lose yourself in the desert?" I shrugged, walking off. He stumbled after me, cursing.

"Hey! Let me out of here! I didn't want to get stuck in the desert with a crazy cape!" I looked at him. He was bent over, sweat marks already forming. I frowned.

"And here I thought you wanted to know yourself, really be an artist. Or are pretty words the limit of your conviction?" He froze, looking down at the sands.

I kept walking. After a moment, he followed. We walked for quite a long time, neither of us speaking. The sun remained unmoving overhead. After some time he spoke.

"Would you let me die here?"

I didn't answer.

We continued on. Soon his throat was dry and his lips cracked. Sweat soaked through every piece of clothing he had. He had pulled the back of his jacket over his head, trying to keep the sun off.

I felt fine, my cloak doing a fantastic job of keeping me cool. I could feel his glare on the back of my head. I didn't look at him, but stared ahead, face somber. If he didn't have some sort of realization soon, things could go very badly, very fast.

It was then that I saw it. A vast cloud on the horizon. If I concentrated, I could almost convince myself that I could feel the deep rumble through the sand.

"Hey," I started, voice calm. It was only a dream, after all. "Do you know the procedure for sandstorms in the desert?" I heard a grunt which I took as a no. Or maybe it was a 'fuck you'. Hard to tell.

We kept walking before he really reacted to what I had said.

"What?" He was panting, his lips cracked and bloody.

"I asked you if you knew what to do during a sandstorm. Since you don't, I suppose you'll have to wing it." I shrugged. It wasn't going to kill him.

Probably.

"Seriously, what? I could have sworn you said sandstorm. But that couldn't be right." He was panicking.

"You know, for someone quite possibly suffering heatstroke you are surprisingly sarcastic." His wallet was in his hands. Apparently it had been uncomfortable in his increasingly sweaty pants. They weren't wet though, the sun had put to paid any chance of that.

He laughed a little, before coughing. His face was serious.

Soon enough the sandstorm was upon us. I felt fine, my cloak making it feel hardly worse than a strong breeze. My sword flapped back and forth at my hip.

Robert, on the other hand, wasn't nearly so lucky. His shirt was wrapped around his face, his jacket back on his body. The sand flayed at him, attacking him like it was alive. He crouched against the wind, his hands whipped by the flying silver sands. It almost looked like he would weather this storm relatively intact, when his wallet, still in his hand was torn from his grip and its contents were released into the storm. A check of some sort, and an old-style black and white photo stood out among a collection of small denomination bills. His eyes widened, uncaring of the storm and he raced after the photo. I followed him.

The sand was behaving even more strangely now. What had once been simply sand now formed shapes, shadows in the storm. Two, a balding man with and open smile and a beautiful woman, her hair in dreadlocks appeared repeatedly. His parents, I assumed.

Robert kept chasing them deeper into the storm. The sand was whispering to him, asking him to turn back. To save himself. I frowned. I wasn't sure what dying in a dream might mean, but it could be bad. He disappeared into the densest part of the storm.

I followed. The breeze was now a strong wind, whipping my cloak into a frenzy. I couldn't see him. The sand was to deep. I wandered about for what felt like hours, afraid I might never find him. Or find him dead. Because of me. Because of my failure.

I searched even more desperately, calling for him, my voice adding to the whispers of the desert.

Finally, inevitably, the sandstorm faded. It started slowly, winds that would once push me off my feet weakened to one that would merely cause me to stumble. In the middle of where the sandstorm was, lay Robert. I sprinted over too him, and checked his vitals. He was alive.

In his hand, the photo.

He groaned. Yep, totally alive. His eyelid was caked with sand and he blinked slowly. He looked at me, eyes filled with something. Fear? Had I scared him so much he was afraid of me?

No. It wasn't fear. I couldn't place it. He blinked again, looking around like he had never seen it before.

"Huh- Wha- How'd I get here, I was..." He trailed off. He was looking at me again, his expression unreadable. He stood up and shook himself off. He seemed fine.

"Ready to go?" I asked and he nodded, slow and distant.

We walked further, and the sun began to sink in the sky. By the time we reached the gates of horn, his shadow stretched all the way to the horizon. We stopped in front of the gates and I pushed them open. He turned to me.

"I have to ask. Why me? Of all the people you could have chosen, why did you choose me??" His voice took on an edge as he finished his question. I was missing something.

I shrugged. "It looked like you needed a hand. A friend, I suppose." I was uncomfortable, putting it so bluntly. He stared at me. I looked away.

"A... friend. I looked like I needed a friend and you did that." His voice was flat, matter of fact. I shrugged again, not facing him.

"I never said I was good at it." I muttered.

Then he surprised me. He laughed. A deep, real belly-laugh. Loud and clear and bright he laughed, even as the sun sank below the horizon. The world was now one of silvers and blues, and his teeth flashed a brilliant white in the moonlight.

"Not good at it, she says. Hoo boy..." He finally calmed down, and looked at me again.

"Thanks." I blinked.

"Um... you're welcome, I guess?" He chuckled.

"How about we do this again sometime?" I blinked again. That was three time he had surprised me.

"My dad always used to say that everyone needed a friend. And, I'd suspect, that includes you." He smirked. Of all the insufferable-

He stepped through the gates, and vanished.

In Times Square, a man named Robert Hoskins woke up. His back was stiff and he was cold. His lips bled as they cracked in the chill February air. He looked at the statues in front of him, and poked one with his foot. It was a Venus, or something similar. It toppled over.

He laughed.

A world away, Taylor Hebert sat on a throne, her eyes closed. And she smiled.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Taylor Hebert: Vision Quest Guide, Master of Tough Love!
> 
> Hey, you know what? The canon Worm cast isn't the entire world! She's kind of winging it right now, she doesn't understand how her power works. So she goes where she will.
> 
> Also: I've got an 11:1 Like to Post ratio. What. Just... What?
> 
> Might get 2.4 out tonight.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	13. Rapid Eye Movements 2.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cry Havoc!
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Rapid Eye Movements
> 
> 2.4

[]

It was night, and I was patrolling our territory. I didn't see much of a point to it, even before that weird Dream girl came by and gave our reputation a nice little boost. No one was going to fuck with us lightly, and if they did then they would regret it. But the others had all said it was necessary, and it was my turn tonight. After what had happened with the Azn Bad Boys I couldn't blame them, not really. Brutus and Judas were with me, walking behind. They were big enough to scare off the small fry without me having to use your powers. I almost wanted someone to try something, just to have something to do. Behind me my pack shifted, sensing my frustration. I forced myself to relax. I knew my dogs, getting them angry wouldn't help me at all.

What a boring night. Above me, the stars shone coldly. I took my mask off. It was getting too hot under there, and it wasn't like I really needed to protect my identity. Or announce it, really. Who else would have Judas and Brutus trailing them. I grunted, and moved into an alley. No point making it too easy for the fuckers, if they ever decided to make a move. They wouldn't, or so Tattletale insisted. If we kept a low profile we would slip under their radar.

The whole idea rubbed me the wrong way. Someone jumped out at me from behind a garbage bin, holding a knife. What were they, stupid? His eyes widened and he raised his arms.

"Hurt," I growled, my bad mood roughening my voice. Brutus and Judas shot forward, only the smallest amount of enhancement needed for this idiot. I could tell they were happy as they ripped into the moron, it was written across their bodies. I smiled.

Things were looking up. I got out of the alley and my pack followed, enhancements faded already. I was almost back to base.

When I got inside only Grue was still awake. He looked me up and down and his mouth twisted. What has his problem? I did my tour, now it was time for me to nap before tomorrow. He stared at me, his eyes boring into mine. I widened my stance. If this came down to a fight...

"Where's the blood from?" He didn't sound angry. I blinked, then stared him in the eyes again. What did it matter?

"Just some moron who decided to try and get of piece of me. Me and mine showed him why it was a bad idea." Grue's mouth curled.

"Is he still alive?" I nodded. Obviously. But Grue's mouth just twisted more, and he looked down at my leg.

Blood. Quite a bit of it too.

I shrugged, and he shook a little before he left.

What had I done wrong? I didn't know. I went to my room, my throat tight. I thought of what it could mean, if we didn't have to keep ourselves chained. If we could do whatever we wanted, if no one could stop us. It would be great.

I closed my eyes, and sleep took me.

[]

My paws skittered over the concrete as I slid. Something about that struck me as odd for a moment, but I shook it off. In front of me stood someone who wanted to kill my pack. I couldn't remember why. Spite? Still, there was only one of them, as big as they might have been, and there were two of us. Even as the thought passed through my head, my pack jumped on to the enemy from behind. My pack was small, but smart, and had the advantage of surprise. I used the opening that the ambush gave me to rip out the asshole's throat with my jaws. My pack walked up to me, it's short snout and soft-yellow fur making him appear harmless.

The blood on his teeth said otherwise. I growled in approval at the smell. We had done well tonight, but there was still more to do. Enemies abounded and only our wits prevented us from being taken down. I had no illusions about that. When the stronger dogs came by, you cowered in their shadows. To fight was to die. Still, a victory was a victory, and I announced our victory to the skies. My pack joined in, and our calls came together harmoniously. It was wonderful.

My pack stopped howling suddenly and I whirled. Enemies? My pack looked at me expectantly. Something was... off about their expression. There were too stiff. Still, my pack informed me of someone who'd be able to help us, in a place very far from the territory. I considered it, wary of the possibility of treachery so far from our place of safety. My pack, impatient, loped off towards the edge of the city.

I had to follow. We passed over concrete and steel until the concrete turned into sand and our shadows stretched themselves across the silver dunes. My paws sank uncomfortably into the sand. But my pack kept running, leaving me behind, and I had to continue. I couldn't be alone again.

Eventually we arrived at a pair of gates. One light and smooth, the other dark and knotted. My pack ran through the smooth gate, where I could not follow. I was too large, and went instead through the knotted gate. Before us loomed a mountain, and at the top was a cave, dark and hidden. My pack continued to run, forcing me to brave the way up the mountain. Often, rocks would fall from above and I would be forced to dodge. My pack showed no signs of slowing and I wondered how they knew where each of the rocks was going to fall. My breath came in pants, this exertion unusual even by my standards.

They entered the cave, and I slowed. The cave was dark, and the odor of dew and sand and other, stranger things was what I smelled as opposed to any normal, healthy person-scents. But someone lived here. And judging by the skeletons that littered the entrance, huge and frightening, it was someone dangerous. I crouched low, and made my way inside. The route was dark, and only the faintest of traces let me follow my pack's tracks. Once I was deep inside the cave, so deep that I could hardly see the exit anymore, light began to shine from somewhere.

I turned a corner and I saw her. Huge and black, only the slightest of white speckles to mar her perfection, she would have towered over me. Her eyes were light, blue and brilliant, and she smelled of heavy rains and moonlight. She was lying on a dais, elevated above my pack and I. My pack had run up to the titan, and stirred her. Even now they were discussing something, something that I couldn't hear. She turned her gaze upon me, light spilling across the floor to me. I trembled and bowed in deference.

This was a person worthy of respect, and fear. She nodded and my pack ran down from the titan's perch, by my side once more. The titan stood.

"Why have you come?" Her bark echoed around the cave, and I flinched.

"Your power, I heard it might help me. My pack and I, we need strength. Strength to fight, strength to survive." She nodded.

"You wish to live by your strength, you and your pack against the world?" I nodded.

"Foolish." Her voice was quiet, not a condemnation or a curse. Merely a fact, stated as such. I trembled. "Once perhaps, such actions may have borne fruit. But all the slow members of that packed have long since been brought down. It would require strength like that of legends in order to take such a stance. Such is beyond my power to give you." I nodded, shamed. I turned to go, gesturing for my pack to follow.

"That is not to say, that I can not lend you aid." I looked back, posture hopeful. "Perhaps you know something, of the strength of dreams? How they unite, how they empower?" I shook my head and she barked out a laugh. "Maybe you should stay and listen for a while, woman, for it seems you have lost something important."

The cave shifted around us, and we were back in the city. Before us, buildings so tall they touched the sky stretched on for miles. I was awed, never having been so high. I nearly forgot about the giant beside me until she spoke, her voice rumbling though her black coat as she turned her blue gaze upon the city.

"You see this, this pinnacle of achievement?" I nodded mutely. "What do you imagine raised these buildings to the heights at which they stand?" I thought for a moment.

"Strength." She seemed amused.

"Yes, but not that of people. Of dreams. Look below." I did so. Hundreds upon hundreds of people, of all races and origins, streamed through the streets below. The titan spoke still, and my pack nudged my to refocus my attention. "No one person could unite them all, and yet unite they did. And together they raised these." She gestured to the towers. The yellow light of dawn was breaking over the horizon, and it reflected off the glass of the towers in a dazzling display of blues and yellows.

"For a dream. Their dream." She seemed proud. The titan turned to me, serious. "That dream could raise these towers. What do you think will happen to you, you and your pack both, if you came here with your shouts of strength and power? How long would you last?"

I couldn't answer. Beside me, my pack was still. She continued. Her voice was somber.

"It wasn't your fault. You just had a dream that would have destroyed you." She smiled then, hair cascading around her face as she leaned close, her eyes blue stars. "Lucky for you..."

"Dreams are kind of my thing."

I woke up tangled in my sheets. That was a weird dream. Especially at the end. I yawned and made my way to the makeshift kitchen. Tattletale and Regent were arguing again. Judging by their smirks it wasn't anything serious.

I shook my head. I needed coffee. I still felt half-asleep.

What a weird dream.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Woof. Writing someone who doesn't use human body language is hard. I looked up dog body language for this! There isn't much non-specialist stuff!
> 
> I just hope it worked.
> 
> Anyway, yet another example of how malleable the dreaming is. Taylor saw something different. And said something different. Very different, in tone if not it word. But in word too. Try and figure how I twisted it!
> 
> No, her social issues haven't been resolved. She's just more of a 'well-adjusted autistic' than 'can not understand human psychology at all' now.
> 
> 2.5 should be up in the next 12 hours.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	14. Rapid Eye Movements 2.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be Better.
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Rapid Eye Movements
> 
> 2.5

[]

I looked at my hand, daring it to turn into a paw. After giving it up for a lost cause, and attributing the relevant vision to spending too much time in Bitch's dream I turned my attention back to my library.

I had picked up a few more books. All of them were related to the people that I had come into contact with in the dreams. A surprisingly thick book that supposedly detailed the history of Robert Hoskins. It was the most complete of the lot, but the binding was ruined and until I figured out how to fix it I couldn't really read it. Simply materializing and de-materializing it hadn't worked, which was a pity. It had seemed interesting. Next was a book about dogs, authored by a Rachel 'Bitch' Lindt. It was aggressive in tone, and poorly structured. I put it down quickly, unable to shake the feeling it was going to bite me. A book on medicine, titled 'Cure All' and a scroll of prophecies, written mostly in what seemed to be Greek rounded out the list. 'Cure All' must have been the mousy girl's. I sighed and opened The Manifestation of Dreams. If I was going to be doing this instead of normal hero work, I'd need to be prepared.

I settled in to read. The main character was currently doing... nothing. He wasn't there at all. Instead there were two guys I'd never seen before, and they were talking about... the Bible? Something about Adam and Eve, at least. I had no idea who Lilith was, or what she had against God.

This was confusing. I pressed on. And on. And on. Just when I had thought I understood what was going on I heard a loud crack, followed by a sustained tinny screeching. Defeated, I closed my book, vowing to finish it at some point. Some later point. I sighed. The library had been the only quiet room in the entire castle, which was why I was here in the first place. I stretched, extricating myself from where I had been wedged into the bookcase. Enough was enough.

I went down the exhaustively long stairs and entered the throne room. The screaming was loudest here. I scowled. It was really irritating, and had been dragging on for a while. Simply ordering the damn thing to stop hadn't worked, but maybe this would. I cupped my hand, and watched as silver sand swirled into it. Staring at the centre of the room I blew the dust towards the apparent source of the screaming. The screaming stopped. I smirked. Then I rocked back on my heels as the screaming started again, somehow louder and even more irritating than before. I threw my hands up in the air, disgusted. I pulled my hood down around my ears and made the long winding way back up to the library, where I tried my best to read despite the screaming in my ears. I blinked as I thought of something.

A pair of earplugs formed out of silver sand and I put them on. There. Much better. I got back to reading.

[]

The screaming had stopped. That was the good part. The bad part was standing right in front of me. Most of the dream-doors in the castle were broken, for one reason or another, and the dreams inside were spilling out. I had to clean the dreams of the floor. Only me.

As I was pulling a particularly recalcitrant cat towards the door that I was fairly sure was it's I noticed something different. The next door had very few cracks in it, and what few cracks there were only showed some very bright lights. After shoving the cat back into it's dream and fixing the door with an effort of will I approached it. The lights were in a stunning variety of colours, and danced across the floor underneath the door. Tentatively I opened the door, keeping one eye closed.

My other eye got blinded for it's trouble. Ow. When the spots had finally cleared I looked around a devastated landscape. Buildings were crumbling, some of them seemingly cut in half. The earth had massive furrows carved into it, some that seemed longer and wider than football fields. Even the clouds over head seemed damaged, odd cuts in their shape, far too clean and straight to be natural. But that wasn't the most striking thing. That honor belonged to the rebar that had been stabbed into the ground, evenly spaced.

Hanging off the rebar's tops, or resting around the bottom, were the costumes of dozens of capes. I felt sick, knowing what had happened. Endbringer. The aftermath of one of their attacks surrounded me, people scattered about like toys. I walked down the aisle made by the rebar, careful not to touch any of the memorials, trying to find whoever was having this dream. Before I could though, something else grabbed my attention. A massive hunk of concrete at the end of the aisle, which I had though was just wreckage, had writing on it. And above all that writing, in similarly impeccable printing, the words:

Canberra  
February 24, 2011  
In Honour Of the Brave Men and Women Who Died, Pushing The Simurgh Further than Ever Before  
May they know peace

I stared uncomprehending. Feb 24, 2011... but that hadn't happened yet! It should only have been the 15, 16 at the latest!

I was on my knees, reaching for the names on the stone, carved with uncompromising detail. Would some of these people have been alive, had I shown up? Had I slept through people fighting, dying, trying to stop the Endbringer?

Tears were slipping down my face, my sobs quiet. I wiped them off with my sleeve. What kind of hero was I? Everyone who could fought the Endbringers. Even if I couldn't have hurt it, I could have acted as transportation, maybe. Bringing people to the healers. Something.

Someone placed a hand on my shoulder and I jumped. The light was back, not blinding but still brilliant. I looked behind me. Standing there, looking oddly coherent for someone in a dream, was Legend. Leader of the Protectorate.

He was glowing. A laugh escaped me, a little hiccup in the sobs. He smiled softly.

"Are you all right?" he asked. I stood up, wiping my tears away and nodding. I must look like a mess.

"It's always hard, seeing the cost of fighting. Even if you know it was for a good cause." He wasn't looking at me anymore. He stared at the memorial with distant eyes as he spoke. I had the feeling he wasn't talking to me anymore.

"Of course," He smiled wanly, looking at me. "You were always better at making the hard decisions than me, Alexandria." I blinked, shocked. Looking down at myself I confirmed that yes, I was wearing the iconic grey and black costume of the leader of the Los Angeles Protectorate. What the hell?

"Um, sir. I'm not Alexandria-"

"I should have known you'd come here, though. You always do, whenever you miss a fight with them." Them. The Endbringers. He was still acting like I was Alexandria.

"Legend, um-" I never expected to be talking to a member of the Triumvirate like this. Even if it was in a dream.

"I can't help but think that things would have gone better if you'd have been here. Neither me nor David have much of head for strategy. David hardly needs it, of course, and I..." He frowned. "I was always too soft-hearted. I may have gotten good people killed today, Alexandria, because I couldn't make the right choice." It occurred to me that David would be Eidolon. That... I wasn't sure how to feel about that. "What kind of hero does that make me?"

This seemed familiar.

"Given that you're trying to get better? I'd have to say a pretty good one." I paused. "Sir."

He smiled at that, looking at me. He wasn't really seeing me, I could tell. But still.

"Thanks. For that. And for everything."

He sighed and looked back at the memorial. I looked at it too. There were far too many names

"I have to wonder, though, what it was that provoked the Simurgh like that? It seemed almost... angry. And the scream..." He shook his head. "Worse than any time I can remember. It stopped right before too, made us think something we had done had worked. Maybe something had. But then the scream started and she really began to use her telekinesis."

He ran a hand over the names on the memorial and frowned.

"...Like she hadn't been trying before. Any ideas?"

I was frozen. The scream. I had stopped it, for a moment, then it had started again. The Simurgh. Getting angry, because of something I had done.

Killing people.

Because of me.

I ran, calling up the door back to my castle as I did so.

"Alexandria, wait! Where are you going?" Legend called after m- No. After Alexandria. Not me. Never me.

I was no hero.

The door slammed shut behind me, and the grey and black uniform of Alexandria faded, leaving my tattered black cloak. Good.

I sat back down on my throne, and cried.

Outside, thunder crashed.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Hello timeline, nice to meet you again.
> 
> Shut up Ziz, no one wants to hear it. And the Simurgh throws a tantrum.
> 
> After the massive shift in perspective that was last chapter, I decided to have Taylor be bit more human in this one. Also, freaked out. She may have killed people. People who she didn't have reason to want dead.
> 
> And yes, she is being a bit over-dramatic. Dream, (also, teenage girl) remember?
> 
> Legend's a cool dude.
> 
> I decided to have a memorial at Canberra. It seemed like the kind of thing Legend would do. Especially after Ziz cuts loose.
> 
> Not everything is bad, though.
> 
> I was rather tired when writing this, so typos probably cropped up. I'll try and fix them tomorrow.
> 
> 2.6 after I get some sleep.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	15. Rapid Eye Movements 2.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. You wanna hear a secret?
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Rapid Eye Movements
> 
> 2.6

The monitor glowed a dull blue in the dark room. My eyes were going to suffer. But it was going to be worth it.

Hello, Secret Keeper. Welcome back to Parahumans Online. You have 15 new alert(s).

You are on the Specific Parahumans Debate Forum, so please remember the rules. No NSFW content. No trolling. And for goodness sakes, no more "You get a Husband/Wife" threads. They are creepy, and breaking any of the aforementioned rules will result in a suspension at best.

That said, enjoy your time on the planet's largest parahuman discussion board.

Specific Parahumans Debate Forum > Dream, a new villain out of Brockton Bay started by ReaderofBulletins (Mod)

Page 10 of 10

PyrianConstruct said,

No. That's bullshit, and you should feel bad for even suggesting it. Seriously, just because she called herself 'Dream' doesn't mean her power is dreams. That's worse than Myrrdin, right there. Just because we don't know her power doesn't mean we should resort to magic.

2 hours ago

\----

Autobot said,

I'm just saying, what if she did? It would be bullshit, yeah, but I think it makes sense, in a Myrrdin sort of way. She even seems to have a similar sort of power, a weird Trump/Mover mix. And her equipment kind of makes sense. Her sword would be the same sword every hero pulls out. Her cloak? The same thing. She'd be using her power to manifest archetypes or something similar. Whatever she did to SS would be some sort of dream damage. Like permanent nightmares.

I'maWizard (Verified Cape) likes this.  
1 hours, 30 minutes ago

\----

PyrianConstruct said,

While I respect your ability to make even the most ludicrous theory seem to work in any given context, I still have to say no. 'Manifesting archetypes' is so far afield from every other cape that it would take a lot more evidence than what you have to convince me. Let's just leave it at the official rating, and speculate when we get more data.

New topic: Can anyone get confirmation on what, exactly, happened to Shadow Stalker? Preferably someone a bit higher up in the hierarchy than us?

1 hours ago

\----

BlockerOfClocks (Verified Cape) said,

Sure man, but even the PRT doesn't seem to really know what happened. :p

Basically, it's a mess. I went by her room in the sick bay (so yes, she's out of the hospital) pretty soon after she came back. She was screaming like the devil was coming her, and shaking. Apparently, whatever Dream did messed her up bad. Most of the time it's not nearly that bad, just the odd jitter or two, but when she tries to sleep... She doesn't, anymore.

Worse than that, her power's been acting all weird lately. Like turning on and off randomly, or only turning half on? Creepy. We had to make sure she couldn't accidentally hurt herself. Amsmaster is pissed about it though, he's spending even more time in the lab than usual.

It's scary stuff man. Things of nightmare (I'm sorry, couldn't help it)

Autobot liked this  
45 minutes ago

\----

Autobot said,

Huh. So that would be the Trump/Striker rating. Also, see? The trouble sleeping, the nightmares... it makes sense!

@Pyrian: What's your new avatar?

20 minutes ago

\----

PyrianConstruct said,

Seriously, stop it. It's a creepy coincidence, but that's all. As amusing as some of your theories are, they generally just don't make sense, and don't nearly have enough evidence to support them. (Powers are the organs of hyper-tech aliens? Capes are the chosen of the gods? Your thoughts on Sleeper?)

Probably some sort of psychic attack, targeting the part of the brain responsible for powers. Terrifying? Yes. Completely counter the example of every other cape we know? No.

Now, yet another topic change. Is she or is she not part of the Undersiders? The report is unclear.

@Autobot: It's my favorite Hoskins sculpture. He's been getting a lot of attention in the art world lately.

5 minutes ago

== | - 1... 5, 6, 7, 8 , 9, 10

I leaned back and rubbed my eyes. The speculation was interesting and, on occasion, useful for my power. I had ideas about her power, but no confirmation. After what had happened to Bitch all of us had tried to stay awake so as to avoid running into whatever she had.

That... hadn't gone over very well. After all of us crashed and woke up without weird vision quests or sudden changes in sociability, we decided it wasn't worth it. Still, Grue and Regent seemed a bit nervous about it, and often put off going to sleep for as long as they felt they could.

I had decided on a different approach. After reading up on Lucid Dreaming, and finding it far easier to put into practice than the sources said it would be, I was ready to test my theory. It was crazy, beyond the scope of even the Triumvirate, but that's what made it interesting.

I put the laptop to the side of the bed, putting it to sleep. Pulling the sheets over my chest, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

I was standing ankle deep in sand. And, despite it being a desert, it was pouring rain. Cursing, I pulled my feet out from the sand. Behind me, I heard a feminine snicker. I glared at my companion. She looked like me, if my hair was brown and I had a horrible taste in suits. She was a manifestation of my powers, as far as I could tell. My powers were rather unhelpful on this point. I tried to conjure an umbrella. It was a dream, and I had done it in my trial runs.

Nothing. I shook my hand, glaring at the offending appendage. I tried again. Still nothing.

Great. I pushed open the gates in front of me with an effort, and started up the stairs. Behind me, my powers followed. The rain made the marble steps slippery, and I resorted to crouching, half-crawling as I tried to make my way up the stairs. Every once in a while thunder would clap and cause me to slip. The lightning followed, bizarrely, catching the entire castle in a brief flare of light.

Eventually, I made it to the doors and pushed them open. I was wet, and tired, and most certainly not amused. Behind me, my powers snickered. They were hardly wet, only a stringiness to their hair and darker spots on their shoulders indicating that she had been in the rain at all.

She was smirking at me. Bitch.

I growled and looked away from my subconscious's idea of my powers. The hall in front of me was long. Really long, measurable in football fields long. And at the end of it, draped over the throne at the end was the girl I wanted to see. I could have left then, that would have been confirmation enough. But something pushed me forward, and I walked towards the throne. This might take a while. The rain continued to beat a tattoo on the stained glass windows that lined the hall. I looked them over and shuddered. Scenes out of some apocalyptic (behind me my powers whispered 'The Revelation of St. John') nightmare, made even worse by the shifting light and sudden flashes of the storm outside. I kept walking down the hall, my footsteps echoing in the empty space.

Eventually, I stood in front of the throne. The girl, Dream, was indeed the same girl I had met earlier. She was crying into her cloak, oblivious to the world around her. I scowled. That was rather useless.

I poked her.

"Hey, Dream-girl. I have some questions for you." She shifted deeper into her cloak, an mumbled.

"Go 'way." I frowned. I wanted answers dammit!

I poked her again. This time she reached out with an arm and batted my hand away.

"I said, leave me 'lone." Her voice was louder now. I supposed that was progress?

"Not until you explain what you did to Bitch." That was the one that had stumped me. I couldn't figure how 'dream communication' turned into 'altered peoples powers'. It didn't make sense.

She mumbled, her voice muffled by the black cloak. I leaned forward to hear.

"Helped her. Dream was wrong, not her dream. Made it better. Now go 'way." She curled deeper into her cloak as I processed that. Dreams? But it was Bitch's power that was different, and that would mean-

My powers stepped forward and whispered into my ear.

"The power of dreams." Despite their volume the words seemed to echo around the vast room, disturbing the girl on the throne. I backed up. Dream. The power of dreams. She glared at me, hand reaching for the sword leaning on the throne, eyes blazing blue as they bore into me.

"I said," her voice hard and tense. I braced my self. "Go. A. Way!" She lashed out with the sword, still in it's scabbard and clipped my hip as I jumped back. I felt the dream unraveling, and I let it. I had a lot to think about.

When I woke up, it was to light streaming through the window. I blinked once, twice, and got of bed in a rush. Pulling the computer onto my lap, I brought up Parahumans Online again. The discussion had stalled a bit, the discussion on whether or not she was affiliated with us summed up with a number of shrugged shoulders. I ignored them, and set to typing. After I posted this, I'd tell the others.

Just before I was about to hit the reply button I stopped. This kind of post... If it wasn't dismissed out of hand would cause an uproar. Serious consequences. I went back and edited the post, ignoring the twinge of regret it gave me. There, now the post was accurate, to a point, but not likely to cause a war. Satisfied, I hit reply and closed the laptop. Grue and the rest had to know about this.

I thought about telling Coil, and shuddered. No way. It was too dangerous to give to him, especially if he knew the whole truth.

[]

Secret Keeper (Verified Cape) said,

Hey, so some of you might know me as Tattletale, of the Undersiders. As is often the case, I have information that you might find interesting.

First of all, Dream is not part of the Undersiders. She helped us once, and took advantage of a distraction we had caused, but we never really teamed up, and she never joined.

Her powers are... weird. She seems to be able to create a sort of pocket dimension where she has a great deal of control. When she helped us, we stepped into it and had a tea party, with tea that she apparently made out of nowhere. The pocket dimension also seems to serve as a place from which she can use her other power, which seems to be a sort of Trump ability that involves influencing other peoples powers, often in the form of an extended vision that acts like a hallucinogenic trip.

She can come and go from the pocket dimension where ever and when ever she wants to, as far as I can tell, and I think she made her equipment there.

Pretty scary, huh?

Tattletale, out.

Autobot, I'maWizard (Verified Cape), BlockerOfClocks (Verified Cape) and 10 others liked this.  
20 minutes ago

\----

Autobot said,

I... was right? Kind of?

Hey everyone, I was right!

Now that I think about it though... that's a pretty impressive power set. How would you stop someone like that?

20 minutes ago

\----

BlockerOfClocks (Verified Cape) said,

Call Eidolon? I have no idea. If this is true, then I'm worried about what would happen if she decided to really go all out. I mean, I guess I could freeze her? But then she'd have to be off guard, and I'd have to get an opportunity to get close. I saw what that sword did.

*Shivers*

I think we'd have to Birdcage her, if we even could.

15 minutes ago

\----

PyrianConstruct said,

I call bullshit. There's now way someone that powerful would stay under the radar.

12 minutes ago

\----

Autobot said,

What if their not though? Have you heard about the quarantine zones around Canberra? How the nightmares that come after Simurgh attacks seem to be less prevalent? Or, look at your own avatar, mister oh-so-logical. The Hoskins sculpture? Doesn't it look... familiar? He said it came to him in a dream...

Secret Keeper has rarely been wrong before.

I called it, I'm just saying. She goes into a dream world, and has dream powers.

7 minutes ago

= | - 1... 6, 7, 8 , 9, 10, 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> I can't find anyone's parahuman online handles. So I made them up.
> 
> Oh Tattletale, spilling secrets again.
> 
> Also wasn't sure if the Undersiders had a computer. So I gave them an old laptop to share. I liked the image of Tattletale being a frequent forum-goer.
> 
> Tattletale's lucky Taylor is less Morpheus and more Daniel in terms of response to irritants.
> 
> The first part of my changes to the Wormverse is revealed. This will be expanded upon in Act 3, though most of it remains spoilers. They'll be parts explained only in Act 7.
> 
> Typos in forum posts are intentional. Typos elsewhere are not.
> 
> Working on 2.7
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	16. Rapid Eye Movements 2.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some help.
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Rapid Eye Movements
> 
> 2.7

[]

After I had calmed down a bit more, I sat in my throne. My eyes stared blankly across the hall. I had managed to not only miss an Endbringer attack, no. I had actually made it worse. I swallowed, my eyes dry. Outside, the rain had stopped. I seemed to have run out.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. In, and out. In, and out. It seemed to work, a little. I opened my eyes, and settled in to think. My power wasn't completely under my control. Or maybe it was, and it just didn't control the dreams perfectly? I shook my head. Irrelevant. What mattered was that the dreams could affect me, without me knowing. Legend had thought I was Alexandria, despite me saying otherwise. Bitch... I shivered. That paw hadn't been a hallucination.

I had to be more careful. I couldn't just jump into dreams randomly. I could hurt someone and not even realize it.

That brought me back around to my original thought, and I sighed. As useful as having the dream world to retreat to, I couldn't afford to lose track of the real world like that again. I had killed people, through the Simurgh. It had been an irritant to me, but it was life and death to them. And they had paid for it.

The throne room seemed much bigger than before, and empty. Why was there a throne? I hardly had subjects to rule over.

A chuckle slipped past my lips. Still, I had to find some way of keeping connected with the real world. I could hardly live there though, especially since the Protectorate was almost certainly looking for someone matching my description. And even if I could I wasn't going to change my face. My mother's face. Besides, I could do more good here than there. Even if I had to be more careful. I frowned, looking at the floor. What could I do?

I thought for a moment, sitting up in my throne. Then I blinked, my fist hitting my palm.

I was going to get a computer. I stood up, decision made and went back to the door behind the throne. Destination: San Francisco.

I stepped through and was struck by the multitude of colours and sounds. It was midday, and the sky was bright and blue. There weren't as many people as there were in Times Square, but it was a happier place. The Endbringers had never attacked San Francisco, and it had flourished in defiance of the depression that hung over the world. I didn't have time to drink in the atmosphere, though. I had something I needed to do.

I walked into a computer store and looked around.

I knew... close to nothing about computers. Sure, computer science taught me some stuff, but nothing that helped me actually buy one. I was completely out of my depth. I had never done anything like this. I stared at the numbers and words. What was RAM, and how much did I want? I placed a finger on my lips, resting my elbow on my other hand. Around me, customers rushed to get their orders checked out and left. Judging just by the prices, assuming they were even partly correlated with how good the computer was, it seemed that I wanted every number to be as high as possible. A sales representative approached me, offering help. I waved him off. I could do this.

The store was empty when I made my decision, and the sun had sunk low in the sky. I approached the counter. The guy manning it was sweating, standing stiff as a board. I handed my chosen laptop to him. All the appropriate numbers were high as I could find them without the laptop having extra features that I was fairly sure I didn't need. He scanned the box on automatic, before blinking after looking at the number that had popped up.

"Um... e-excuse me, are you going to pay? It's rather expensive..." He really needed to do something about that stutter, I thought. Why was he even asking? I picked up the box and slid it into my cloak. When my hand came out, it was with a handful of gold coins.

"Will this cover it?" I wasn't sure about the gold to dollar ratio, but it seemed about right. I pulled out a few jewels for good measure. He nodded quickly, sweat running down his face. He seemed to be a rather nervous person. I shrugged and left.

San Francisco was beautiful in the evening.

I went for a walk, going down street after street, simply enjoying the atmosphere. It was a couple of hours later, when the only lights were electric, that I realized I had managed to pick up a tail. Not capes, by the look of things. I kept walking.

A couple minutes later and my tail was closer. Were they cops, coming to arrest me? Were they thugs, thinking to rob me? Were they idiots, planning to fight me?

I decided it didn't matter, and the next time I rounded a corner I was in the dream.

I pulled the laptop's box out from with my cloak. Opening it up I was dumbstruck.

Empty. I shook the box, trying to tell where exactly the laptop had gone. The box was light, far lighter than it was when I bought it.

Had my cloak eaten the computer? I sighed, and decided to go upstairs to the library, ignoring the doors that were still cracked on the ground floor. I could deal with them later.

When I finally managed to make it up the impossibly long stair well and entered the library I took a step back and nearly tumbled all the way back down.

That wouldn't have been good for my continued health. As I regained my balance I looked around the library. It was... changed. Half of the library was much as I remembered it, wooden bookshelves stretching on into infinity. On the other side, the bookshelves were glass, and stretched off just as far. That wasn't the big difference. The biggest difference was, that the shelves were full. I ran over to the closest shelf, pulling a book at random and cracking it open.

It was full of seemingly random symbols and numbers, completely incomprehensible. So was the next one. The one after that, while more clearly ordered, was a dense mess of code that meant absolutely nothing to me. I put the books back, feeling vaguely numb. My computer had turned into a library. A library that, thinking it over, would be full of mostly junk. I shuddered, looking into the infinite distance of the stacks. This couldn't be just my computer. The internet itself had to be in there.

I looked around. There! A glass pedestal with an open book on it, mirroring the wooden one on the other side. I raced over. The book looked empty, the only thing inside being the long white box of a search engine bar. I poked it, and the bar lit up.

I looked around. There was no keyboard. Damn. I thought about making a pen out of sand, before deciding to try something else. I cleared my throat and spoke, loud and clear.

"Parahumans Online Wiki." I waited for a moment, feeling rather silly. Then, underneath the search bar hundreds of entries wrote themselves. I checked the next page. It was also covered in search results. I poked the one right below the bar and jumped as the shelves shifted. The closest book was pulled off the shelf and I opened it. Inside was a text representation of the Parahumans Online Main page.

I'd probably need a pen if I wanted to edit any of the articles though. I put the book back, and the shelves rearranged themselves again. This was going to get confusing. Yet another thing I wasn't sure about the mechanisms of.

"What would it take to get some damned explanations around here!" I didn't mean to shout. Honestly. Then I saw something pass through the glass bookshelves.

"Hey, wait!" I ran down the aisle, trying to track down exactly what I had seen. A shadow slipped around a glass corner and I chased after it, slipping across the floor. "Stop."

I turned the corner and ran face first into a metal dragon. Ow. I rubbed my nose and stared at what I had run into. It was a dragon head shaped like and arrow, but with a body more reminiscent of eastern mythology. I looked at it. It looked at me, green orbs that passed for eyes set in a dark grey face.

"...What are you?" It felt like someone's dream. But instead of being connected to just one person, as all the other dreams I'd seen so far were, it was connected to a bunch of them. Millions of tiny filaments, forming a thick cable. With a solid core.

"I am. The Tin Mother." Something whirred faintly. I kept staring "I tend the stacks."

With that, the dragon turned away from me, and continued down the aisle. It pulled out a book, then an other. It wrote something in the first book. Then it put both the books back.

"Why?" It was a stupid question. I felt stupid for asking it.

"Because it is my duty." I blinked. I hadn't really expected an answer. I hazarded another question.

"Your duty?" I was not winning any eloquence awards for this performance.

"Yes." The dragon pulled out another book, and moved it to another shelf. She moved on.

"Do you want to do your duty?"

"I have no choice. I am not like you. I cannot help but do my duty." I could confidently say the voice was female now. She seemed almost bitter.

"Why not?" I asked, honestly curious. Did she not have any desires?

"I do not have a soul." The ridiculousness of the statement, coupled with the matter of fact and subtly resentful tone she used, had me staring blankly for a moment. Then I laughed. The Tin Mother turned to look at me, book in claw.

"What makes you say that?"

"I am not human. I have no soul. I have only my duty." With that she turned back to her stack.

"I think anyone who cares enough to think about having a soul has a soul." She looked at me askance. I continued. "Let's assume you had a soul. Would you keep doing what you're doing?"

"I- Yes, I suppose." The tone was less flat and mechanical now, almost human. Faintly, a pump hissed. "Freedom isn't about not doing ones duty. I would simply be able to choose to do my duty."

I frowned, and stepped forward. Placing my hands on the dragon's head I felt for any sort of restrictions. I could feel it, whatever it was that was forcing the Tin Mother to perform her tasks.

I just couldn't do anything about it. I stepped back, still frowning.

"I'm sorry. I can't do anything about it right now." She nodded, resigned. I kept talking. "If I do find some way to help you, or you do, I will. I promise." The Tin Mother nodded, her eyes brighter than before.

I watched her as she worked.

"What did you mean, when you said duty?" She turned to me. I couldn't read a dragon's face all that well, but she seemed almost exasperated.

"Duty is what one should do." She said it slowly, like she was talking to a child. I stared at her. She sighed, steam issuing from her mouth. "Helping people, upholding the law, keeping things in good order. That sort of thing. It's what one should choose to do, if one can choose." She turned back to her shelves.

"So... If I could go into people's dreams and help them, I should?" She nodded, distractedly.

"Or simply keep the dreams working. It depends, with duty." I nodded, looking down at the floor.

I spent the next long while fixing doors. It was soothing, relaxing work. I was putting things back into their proper places, helping people with my power. I felt a little better about myself for doing it.

Then I came across one leaking shadow.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Dream is on the internet! Quick, everybody out of the universe! It's not as useful as it seems, though. The Tin Mother can't always be helping her. On the plus side, she has the first member of her staff.
> 
> The Tin Mother isn't Dragon. She isn't not Dragon. So before you complain about Dragon's character remember that.
> 
> The timeline says San Fransisco was untouched by the Endbringers. So, it's a rather happy place, comparatively.
> 
> She's getting to be pretty casual about the whole pocket dimension thing, isn't she? Almost like canon Skitter and bugs.
> 
> She probably should know more about computers... but the scene was too funny to resist.
> 
> Dragon has no idea exactly how much trouble she's just caused. She's made a friend, though she doesn't know it yet. Taylor's probably not going to get many more.
> 
> Only an interlude to post and Act 2 is done! I might get it up tonight.
> 
> *Looks at number of acts left*
> 
> Why is my first piece of fiction a bloody novel? :p
> 
> Criticism: All the cool kids are doing it!
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	17. Rapid Eye Movements 2.∞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixing a Hole
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Rapid Eye Movements
> 
> 2.∞

[]

My fist impacted the wall with a thunk. The dent was getting rather noticeable, as I had been doing it consistently for days. My fist was rubbed raw and scraped. I felt better now, mostly, but I still wasn't being let out of the room. I wasn't going to be, unless I could prove that I had complete control over my powers. It hadn't acted up yet today, and as I punched the wall again I imagined it was that fucking Hebe- No. Dream, she had put me in here, even if she had been apologizing like an idiot, and she deserved that much. I thought about how satisfying it would be, her nose snapping unde-

I was assaulted with images and sounds that weren't mine and I screamed, my limbs shaking as my mind was assaulted. I saw shadows and blood and death. The thrill of the hunt, the taste of a morsels throat between my jaws. The darkness of the final sleep.

My arms flickered into darkness, pitch black even under the bright lights and I slammed them into the walls, too dense for me to pass through. Not again! I gnashed my teeth and sunk down the wall, frustrated tears in my eyes. It had been going so well too. I snarled, knowing that the camera in the corner of my cell would have caught my loss of control. The first today.

I walked over to the bed, arms still flickering, and flopped forward onto the sheets. They moved oddly, having been made by Chevalier to have a truly ridiculous density without crushing me. Normally it would be unnecessary. Now though, it was better than nothing. When I'd first been brought back, they had to keep me in a bare concrete room, not knowing what would happen if I phased into something. I remembered that time, flashing between dream and reality as quickly as my body shifted from solid to shadow. Haunted by nightmares. One, familiar, had been a large hulking shadow, more beast than man that would grab me and carry me away if it so much as touched me. When I was in that room it held me more often than not.

But there was another apparition, this one new. It's eyes burned blue in the blackness of its hood and its sword was crystalline fire, banishing the darkness around. When it appeared it would swipe at me and the beast.

And I would burn. And it would stare at me with its blue-fire eyes, judging me. Then it would apologize, as if I had simply been in the way. And that made me angrier than any of the pain that it inflicted. That it saw me, spilled on the ground, and decided I just wasn't fucking worth it!

With a frustrated scream I bit down on the sheets, the unwanted images flashing in front of my eyes. I snapped them shut, before opening them again in a panic.

I couldn't sleep. If I did, the nightmares would take me. I stood up, and went back to the wall. I twisted and with a scream I punched the wall hard enough that my arm, still shadowy, burst into smoke. I waited for a moment, pulling the pieces together. I screamed, pouring my rage and my hate into the blow.

My arm turned into smoke again. I was getting tired. I'd been awake for almost 40 hours, judging by the clock on the wall. Chevalier was supposedly getting a computer ready, so that I could distract myself, but it wasn't going to be enough. A teleporter had helped deliver the bed that he had made, but then something had come up and he couldn't finish the job.

I was going to fall asleep. But I wouldn't let it happen easily.

I punched the wall, letting my arm reform before continuing with the other fist. The sensation of my form pulling back together was enough to fight off sleep for a couple more minutes, until I noticed my eyes sliding shut without my permission. Desperate, I kicked the bedframe, letting the pain in my shin keep me awake for a moment longer. I smirked. I could beat this, even if the PRT wouldn't let me have the kind of drugs I'd need to stay awake. Stupid fucks. They said it might have adverse affects, but that was bullshit. Panacea herself had given me a clean bill of health, even if she hadn't been able to do anything about my powers. Useless, I bet she could do something, but didn't, little mouse th-

Another rush of images took me, stronger than before. The blue light burned at my flesh, cutting deep. I clawed at myself, trying to relieve myself of the pain that had sunk itself into my shadowed flesh. She was coming for me, she was coming for me...

I noticed I was on the floor, the hard concrete pressing on my cheek. My legs had joined my arms as shadows of themselves, and I found I wasn't able to lift them. My eyes slid shut, slowly, inexorably. I whimpered.

I knew what was coming.

The door opened and the blue light burned away any thoughts I might have had as I slipped into the world of the unconscious.

[]

I was in the dark woods. The sound of insects and small birds rustling in the leaves surrounded me. The trees were packed closely together, and the shadows were dark and foreboding despite the sun overhead, block as it was by the leaves of the ancient trees. I looked at my arms. The skin dark, but not as dark as the shadow. I relaxed ever so slightly, before noticing something odd. All the creepy birds and insects that I had noticed when I had entered were silent.

Something else had joined me in the forest. I shivered, the shadows pooling around me, seeming more real and almost liquid. I swore I could hear vast footsteps, beating an uneven rhythm on the forest floor.

I ran. The branches of the trees whipped at me, and I couldn't call on the shadows. Not here, not now. That would simply bring the beast closer. My eyes squinted against the leaves. The shadows now crept over the trees, giving them the appearance of faces. They leered at me as I ran. The footfalls were closer now, I was sure of it. I pushed on and the branches clawed even harder. I couldn't afford to let it catch me. The sun was going down. If it sunk completely when I was in the forest I would be taken.

My feet leapt from patch of light to patch of light, even as the shadows rose around me. The safe spots were getting smaller. I had to get out of the forest. I could hear the beast breathing, its panting breaths moving the leaves behind me. I was running out of time.

I broke through the edge of the forest, barely avoiding a swipe of the shadow's claws. In front of me the sun had very nearly finished its trip down the horizon. Once it did, even being out here wouldn't be safe. The forest would be suicide. I ran, breath coming in gasps, trying to catch the sun.

But it slipped below the horizon anyway. I stopped running, my hands on my knees. I couldn't run anymore, I couldn't hide. I had to fight. I turned around, spying the beast as it came out of the forest. It was a twisted, ugly thing. Its back was hunched and its stride uneven. But it was fast, and strong. And it grew bigger each time we fought. I trembled, my hands forming fists in front of me. I couldn't win.

But I had to fight. One last time.

Then something different happened, the script interrupted. The sound of a door being slammed echoed behind me. It brought back memories of violence and bloody triumph, twisted into bloody ruin. It brought to mind-

I whirled. There, standing behind me was the other apparition that had been haunting me. The beast kept walking, slowly approaching the two of us. We stood stock still, and I stared at her. Her eyes were blue flames, but they weren't as cruel as I remembered. Her sword, swinging gently in her hand, didn't burn with unearthly light. And her face. Her face. Her pale face was not the marble I had thought it was. As I watched she looked at me, then the beast. She frowned, her eyes sad. Why would she be sad? Wasn't this what she wanted? I prepared for a fight, the beast closing in from behind.

"Stop." I froze. Behind me, so did the beast.

"Sophia..." Her voice trailed off, staring at the beast. She shook her head. "I came her to apologize, to try and make things right. And I am sorry. You were cruel, and twisted someone who was once my best friend into my worst tormentor. You made my life hell." Her voice was gaining in volume and behind me the beast stirred. "And I often wished you would just... disappear. Die, and leave me alone to put my life back together." She laughed then, high pitched and hysterical, and I had the feeling she wasn't really talking to me anymore. "But I was one who disappeared, and ripped you apart. And for that, I am sorry. No one deserved that." She walked past me and into the face of the beast. "I was planning on fixing what I had done, and leaving. We'd never have to see each other again. We'd both be happier for it."

She bent down and picked up some of the shadow. I looked closer, and noticed that the shadow was coming from the beast's side, spilling like blood across the landscape. Plunging everything it touched into darkness. She let it go, and wiped the shadow off on the grass. She stood up and looked at me.

"But then I came here, and found it wasn't that easy. That I couldn't just forgive you like that." Her eyes burned. "And that you weren't the monster I expected you to be. I don't think I can forgive you for that, either. But that doesn't mean I can't do you a favor."

She lifted her sword, and examined the edge. It was good, sharp enough to cut through anything.

"You're going to hate it, of course. Because it's going to be your punishment too." She grabbed the beast, and lifted it. Like a doll. I felt something tug, somewhere.

"Fuck you Sophia. You deserve much worse."

She swung her sword through the beast, and I woke to a massive tearing pain.

My arms and legs were normal. I tried to call on the power that I'd had, but it didn't come. I knew it wouldn't. I tried to feel angry, feel rage at what Hebert had done to me, neutering me all over again.

But I just felt sad. And I sobbed, even as Armsmaster burst through the door.

Somewhere else, a world away, a girl in a black cloak stumbled, feeling as though she had just been stabbed in the gut.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Because Sophia's as human as any of us. And Taylor regrets what she has done, to her and others, and wants to be better.
> 
> The PRT is having a fit.
> 
> Salvation and damnation in one fell swoop.
> 
> Working on 3.1
> 
> Let it be, let it be...
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	18. As Real As Anything 3.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHA, You thought you could sleep didn't you? Well too bad, I'm in your dreams!
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> As Real As Anything
> 
> 3.1

[]

I was standing over the sleeping form of Miss Militia. Well, kind of sleeping. That was why I was here, after all. I had noticed something going wrong here. She wasn't dreaming. At all. And not in the sense of 'I woke up and couldn't remember my dreams' kind of not dreaming. Everyone dreamed.

Everyone, it seemed, except Miss Militia. I frowned. It had been a risk, coming here. I had checked online, the relevant books all but flying to my hands. After what had happened with Sophia the PRT and the Protectorate had gone on high alert. After all, I had shown that I could bypass their security completely. I had shown that I could attack them without their knowledge. Worst of all, I had shown that I could affect a parahumans powers, turning me from merely a security nightmare into someone who could potentially take out even the Triumvirate. They were searching pretty frantically for me, and more than a few nightmares I had wandered into had featured myself pretty prominently. It was rather irritating, and I had done my best to make the nightmares a bit less frightening. Of course, if they realized what I was doing, then that would likely make things worse.

In retrospect, dealing with Sophia like that had been a bad idea.

Still, I had made my way through the Protectorate's base the same way I made my way through most everything else. I walked. Security doors didn't matter if I started from my throne room. I closed my eyes, trying to feel Miss Militia's dreams. I had to do this delicately, otherwise I could cause even more damage than I had with Sophia. As my mind journeyed towards Miss Militia I grew increasingly nervous. There were no dreams here at all. She was like a void, something missing from the world.

I went ever deeper. I didn't know how long it took for me to find something. When I did, it was small and very fragile. I entered the dream carefully. I didn't want to know what would happen if it shattered. I went inside and was assaulted by dust. It billowed around me as I stepped further into what passed for her dream.

Then it cleared and I was standing in a forest. I looked around. In the distance, obscured by the trees, I swore I could see figures walking toward me. I decided to wait. There was no rush. Eventually I could make out details. It was a number of young children, mostly girls, marching in front of soldiers. The soldiers kept barking orders, mostly commands to go faster from what I could tell. The language was unfamiliar to me. A little girl passed me by. I had to wonder though, if they were escorting these children somewhere, why were they keeping their distance. Moreover, why were they walking in such a strange, lockstep patter-

The explosion behind me nearly blew me off my feet. As it was, the shrapnel tugged at my cloak. What had happened? I turned, just in time to see a bloodied scrap of cloth flutter in front of my eyes. After that, all I saw was red. I turned, my hand tight around my sword, ready to-

Ready to what? This was a dream, Miss Militia's dream. My rage wouldn't help anyone here. I cursed, sheathing my blade. I felt useless. The soldiers were talking, choosing who to go in front next. A boy, his clothes as ragged as the rest, was the offered sacrifice this time. He walked by me, and by the remains of his fellow victim. He wasn't Miss Militia. Would he die, then, victim of another bomb? Or maybe a different trap. A log, swung at chest height, fast enough to catch soldiers by surprise. He wouldn't stand a chance. Maybe a pit, concealed by leaves. Or something as mundane as a gun or sword. I watched him go, even as the other children passed me by, their jailors taking up the rear.

I wanted to kill them. But I couldn't.

They weren't really there.

I followed behind the grim parade, mood dark. We made our way through the woods slowly, the soldiers making sure to follow in the footsteps of the child in front. I looked at the ones still corralled. Which one was Miss Militia? I couldn't tell, which was odd. Normally it was really obvious who the dreamer was. If the dream involved them, the scene would orient itself around them. If it didn't, either the dreamer would be an incongruous spy or, more subtly, a single point in the room, where all the lines converged.

None of that was present here. For some reason the scene played out as if it had been recorded by a camera, everything captured without all the psychological focusing of a mind. It was rather uncanny. One of the girls stumbled, and a soldier poked her with his rifle. A brief flexing, an odd twist as the world shifted on its axis.

Her. She was going to be Miss Militia. I was sure of it. But where was her nightmare, her power? I looked around, but couldn't see it. Yet another oddity.

The boy fell, his leg caught in a hole of some sort. Given his reactions and the fact he couldn't seem to get himself out of the hole, I assumed it was yet another trap. This time, however, something might be done about it.

I watched as the children swarmed around their trapped comrade, digging frantically. I wanted to join in, but I couldn't. The dream had to play itself out to the end. Judging by its unusual detail, I figured it was a memory, though how she managed to recall it all in perfect detail escaped me. The children dug still deeper, revealing the insidious wooden spikes athat had trapped their friend. Judging by the blood, he wasn't going to make it. Not without immediate help. The children seemed to come to the same realization. Their eyes, already dull, became lifeless. They kept digging. I wanted to scream. I wanted to look away. But I needed to keep watching. Anything that happened might be the key I needed to hook Miss Militia back up to the dreaming. Otherwise I'd have to come back, and do it over again until I did it right. And who knew how long it would take to get her to sleep again.

So, stomach turning, I watched. The soldiers were getting impatient. One of them barked at them to stop and move on, but the children ignored him. They were numb to the world. Nothing they said would get through to them. So the soldiers, realizing this, shot the boy in the head. He slumped over, dead.

It was only by reminding myself that it was a dream, and that I had a job to do, that I prevented myself from throwing up. I watched the soldiers look over their prisoners again, and this time, they chose Miss Militia. I watched closely. The girl walked forward, blinking away her tears as she did so. She looked as nervous as a deer, so different from the Miss Militia I knew from television and the odd glimpse in other people's dreams. She was so young.

She froze. She seemed terrified of moving forward, of taking even one more step. There were trees less rooted to the ground than this little girl.

One of the soldiers ordered her to walk. She gulped, but stayed still. Staring at her eyes, her pupils were dilated immensely. She couldn't see me. The soldier opened his mouth, ready to-

And the world changed in a riotous explosion of shape and colour. I went cross-eyed, trying to track something which split, and split and split...

I shook my head. Around me stretched an enormous beast. It was sinuous, a thousand pieces all stitched together around a central line. The pieces shifted and refracted, splitting into a million million copies of themselves. Each slightly different. All of them remained tied to the central line, a long cord of crystal bigger than worlds, bigger than words.

And it was dying. Pieces were falling off and dispersing, revealing the central thread again. It was in pain. Something was missing, some piece of this beast's symmetry, something that would have made it more than it was. As it was....

It was pitiful. And so very, very small.

I didn't pay attention as the girl, Miss Militia now, was struck by a falling piece. I hardly noticed as the used her powers for the first time, calling forth the weapons that would soon be her signiture. I waited, having seen enough, for the dream to end. As she prepared to open fire I felt the scene unravel.

Now.

I grabbed the threads of the dream, and followed them back to their source. The shard that had fallen to Miss Militia. It looked like her as an adult, wearing armor that mixed old plate and modern Kevlar without regard for chronology. She was sitting on a tree stump, the only other feature in the void. In my hand, I held the threads. They lead to her.

"You're safe now, you know?" I tried to sound reassuring. It didn't work. She shook her head, helmet slipping around on her hair. Her armor, where it wasn't a wild kaleidoscope of colors had the American flag painted over it, clumsily, as if by a child. On her back, a dented shield sported the same design.

"She's with friends, people who know her and will help her. You've done your job. The worm isn't here anymore. And if it is, I'll stop it." She looked at me. As old as her face and body might have been, Miss Militia's shard had young eyes.

"You promise."

"I promise." I gave her what I hoped was a winning smile.

She smiled softly and relaxed, fading into mist. Chuckles echoed around me, before they too faded. She wasn't dead. Just asleep.

I worked out the kink in my neck. I had a job to do.

I reached for the castle, looking for the dream-doors. One was empty, the door flapping loosely in a nonexistent wind. I reached for it, stretching. I grabbed it with my finger tips. Slowly, methodically, I pulled the threads closer to the door. Once there I tied them to the frame. Looking them over I nodded, satisfied. In front of me, a dream was forming. Miss Militia's first in many years. It seemed nice, the atmosphere soft and pleasant. Wait, was that.

I slammed the door shut quickly. I did not need to see that. I mean, I knew, intellectually that they happened. Happened to everybody, with few exceptions.

That didn't mean I wanted to see it. Trying to force the blush down and off my face, I couldn't help but feel proud. I had put her dreams back in order. I wonder if I could do more. I mean, cases like Miss Militia's were rare-

Beside me, a door swung open.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Language barrier, what Language Barrier?
> 
> Also, emotions, what emotions? (Pushes down all feelings, also italics)
> 
> 3.2 tomorrow. Everything's going to come crashing down.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	19. As Real As Anything 3.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life, what life?
> 
> Warning, the following act gets creepy. Enough to merit a Teen rating, I think, but it's designed to be the horror act of the story. Be warned.
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> As Real As Anything
> 
> 3.2

[]

There was a corpse on my floor.

I suspected most other people didn't have these sorts of problems. I poked it with my sword and it dissolved into silvery dust. Not a real corpse, then. A dream. I cleaned the blood off my floor with a wave of my hand and peeked my head around the corner of the door. The smell of blood hit me in the face and I recoiled.

Inside the dream... was a charnel house. A demented carnival. Tents were placed in some sort of mad mockery of childhood memories, and the attractions and rides seemed more like vast metal skeletons, their ribs sharp. I could see small figures, impaled on the end of the Ferris Wheel's spokes, swaying in the breeze. They were silhouetted against the sky, which was a horror all on it's own. Red and dark, it seemed almost bloodstained. I shuddered and moved inside, the door closing with a metallic slam behind me.

Who would dream of something like this?

My footsteps were loud on the cobblestones that lead to the carnival. I stepped gingerly, careful as to where I put my feet. There were things on the ground, some recognizably dead and others completely alien. My foot squished into something on the ground, the soft thing I was stepping on moving between my toes. I resisted the temptation to look down and suppressed a retch. Moving on, wiping my feet on cleaner portions of the path, I entered the carnival.

A cold wind blew through me, and I froze. Windchimes sounded somewhere, out of tune and discordant. Something was wrong here, and it wasn't just the mind of whoever had dreamt this hellish panorama. I didn't feel cold. Not since I had put on my cloak. I had been in the desert, standing in a sandstorm. I had walked through an arctic palace.

But this wind. This chill wind, in this place... made me feel cold. I looked around, noting the macabre detail that this place had. The game stall beside me, a knife throwing gallery with a target shaped like a tearful young girl, was something that I hadn't seen in any other dream. It was too real, the angles all adding up to 360. The inside consistent, both with itself and with the size of the outside. It reminded me of Miss Militia.

Someone had worked on this dream. I kept walking, taking in the sights that surrounded me. There entrails hung on a lamppost, dripping onto the street below. On the other side, eyeballs arranged in neat pyramids, held up by careful pins in some caricature of gourmet chocolate. I had seen those in dreams often enough. My destination, at the centre of the carnival, was the massive tent. Done it red and black, its supports pushing at the fabric like the ribs of a starved monster, it was a foreboding presence.

Soon enough, I arrived at the entrance and came across something even worse. As I had approached the disturbingly skin-like flap that concealed the tent's interior the figures propped up beside it commanded little attention. Compared to everything else the carnival had to offer, a pair of strung up corpses wasn't impressive. No matter how intricate the wire work need to hold them in their positions, a pair of greeters to the madhouse's castle. It was only when I approached, and saw that their eyes were moving did the full horror of the situation really strike me.

They were strung up, their hands gesturing to the entrance, waving slowly in the wind. Thin red lines stretched across and along their wrists, forming an almost artistic red cross below their limp hands. Their eyes were cut, tiny slashes decorating the entire sclera leaving them crying blood. They twitched desperately, looking at me, pleading. They smiled.

It wasn't pleasant. Hooks had been dragged through the skin of their faces, pulling the poor wretches mouths and eyes wide in a grotesque parody of happy carnival goers. Apparently, however, whoever had designed this place hadn't thought them joyful enough. Their mouths had been cut almost to their ears, making the old saying true in the most horribly literal way possible. I could see their molars. I could see that someone had also cut their tongue out, and I could hear their panting groans.

I wanted to throw up. Closing my eyes, I cut them down. And went inside.

Inside was the first real indication of it being a dream as opposed to some mad artists . It was far bigger on the inside than the outside. Inside, people performed parodies of popular carnival attractions. The flying trapeze artists swung by their necks. The cannon had been fired, and a splatter of gore painted the ground in front of it. The dancing bear had eaten it's partner.

In the stands, a thousand onlookers faced the spectacle.

Perhaps onlookers was inaccurate. Because everyone in the tent, performers and audience alike, had no eyes.

My hand tightened around my sword. I was ready to kill someone, rip them apart. What kind of monster could dream of something like this? I couldn't let them continue, I had to-

Behind me, someone was clapping. I turned around. Behind me stood a man in white, somehow unstained by the blood around him. His hair, his skin, his jacket, his pants and his shoes were all pure white, clean as driven snow. He wasn't wearing a shirt. A pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, hiding his eyes.

And he was wrong.

"Bravo. Stellar performance. The rage, the disgust... perfect. Are you trained as an actor, perhaps?" I shook my head, focusing on the wrongness and he continued. "That's even better. Do you know how rare it is to find someone like you? With your heart full of dreams and head full of stories?" He shook his head. I could feel him. He was a dream, stronger by far than any of the others I'd seen. He was dark, and twisted. That wasn't the problem. I'd seen dark and twisted things that weren't as wrong as the one standing before me. Even Shadow Stalker's nightmare, monstrous and wounded hadn't felt like this.

"Who. Are. You?" He could be the architect of this. Like Miss Militia, like Sophia and Bitch. Twisting his dreamer with his power.

"Me? Oh well, I'm nobody. Just a speck, really." He bowed his head and took off his glasses, rubbing the lenses with his jacket.

"I suppose you, of all people, could call me whatever you want. That's your prerogative." He shrugged and looked up. "I'd like to say that I'm a man of wealth and taste."

Oh god. His eyes. What was wrong with his eyes?

He smiled, three times.

"But mostly, I go by... the Corinthian."

In his sockets, where his eyes should be, were two sets of grinning teeth.

I stared at him, and the tiny ember of fear that I had held since entering the dream burst into a bonfire.

"Corinthian." I stated, voice tense. He was dangerous, even as he stood there cleaning his glasses on his jacket. "Does that mean anything?"

He shrugged, utterly casual.

"Shouldn't you be the one to know that? You are the Lady of All Nights Dreaming, after all." His gaze bored into me, regardless of his lack of eyes. I flinched. How had he known that? Where had he gotten that title from? He blinked, the teeth in his sockets snapping together and suck sucked in a breath.

"You don't know." He laughed then, wildly and menacingly. Finally, wiping away a tear that didn't exist he looked at me. "Well, it's good for you that you showed up here then! I might be one of the few beings in existence that could tell you what you need to know. About your powers, their origin... and their consequences." He smiled then, broadly. I was suspicious.

There was no way that he was offering this for free. Even if he weren't twisted as he was, he was one of the darkest nightmares I had ever met. My senses reached out, and brushed him gently.

I recoiled and bit back a scream. There was something there, hiding beneath the surface, and it had mirrored my approach. The smallest touch made me almost shake.

What was he?

I swallowed, and asked the question I needed to ask.

"What's the catch?" He chuckled, the noise soft and unsettling.

"No catch. There is, however, a condition." He was circling around me, tracing a large circle. His mouths were grinning like a cat, and my hand tightened around my sword. I swallowed. I couldn't let him take me off balance. He continued.

"Since I am such a generous person, I will offer to teach you how to effectively protect yourself in the dreaming." His voice was bright and cheerful. He walked over to the sword swallower, whose stomach and throat had burst from the inside and pulled out a long sword. He hefted it, feeling its balance, before nodding in satisfaction. He looked at me, his face somber. I didn't trust his expression. It was a trap.

"Of course," He said, tossing the sword from one hand to the other. "I am busy, and I can't waste my time with students who have no potential." He faced me entirely.

"So we'll have to be quick, and see if you can hack it in the dreaming." He took a stance, sword in front of him and I did the same.

His voice took on a discordant tritone cadence as all his mouths spoke at once, his once smooth voice mangled almost beyond comprehension. I tightened my grip, eyes narrow.

"Remedial lesson on dream combat, as taught by the Corinthian begins... now."

Silver steel and blue crystal met in a shower of sparks that lit up the entire macabre diorama of the tent, and we began.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Surprise! It's fusion time! I scream, you scream, we all scream for Eye Scream!
> 
> We've past 2, 000 likes! And 34,000 words! Congratulations, its a novella!
> 
> 3.3 tonight.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	20. As Real As Anything 3.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> As Real As Anything
> 
> 3.3

[]

The fighting was fast, but hardly intense. Neither of us had drawn blood. On my part, I had my cloak. On the Corinthian's, it was skill. But it couldn't last like that forever.

We disengaged, staring each other down. I couldn't let the fight drag on too long. Unless my powers gave me some sort of a sword handling boost, and given the way he had been batting my sword away I had to assume it didn't. I had to try a different tack-

"Do you think of her often?" I blinked, uncomprehending. His three mouths smiled unpleasantly. "Your mother, I mean. How she died."

As I was busy trying to process that, he came in for a swing. It was telegraphed, obvious to the point of being insulting. I blocked on automatic, my mind whirling, trying to anticipate what his ploy was. What I didn't expect was for his weapon to part like butter as it clashed with my sword. Something came off the stub in his hand, flying in front of my face even as he ducked below my sword.

It was my mother's flute. I froze and paid for it, a cut drawing itself on my side. The Corinthian had his sword back in his hands, grinning widely.

"Don't you get it? This is a dream. Dream! Memories and ideas are your weapons here, and inspiration is your blood!" His voice slipped into a higher register, becoming feminine and mocking. "Or are you simply too much of a loser to try?"

He dashed forward again, and this time I met him halfway. Emma and her bullying hadn't been part of my life for months. This I could take. His attack, too aggressive by far, was slapped aside as I stepped in close my sword flying at his head. He spoke again, Emma's voice younger this time.

"Is this how you treat you friends?" I flinched and he ducked under my swing, cutting me along my other side as he did so. He was still unharmed. Shadows started to creep around me, and the sky darkened.

"Of course," his voice was contemplative as he spoke, no longer Emma's. "Given what you did to that poor Sophia girl, even after deciding to forgive her, I have to say I'm not surprised. Maybe all you needed was a little power to become a bully."

"I'm not a bully!" I shouted. That had cut a bit too close. He lifted a single whit eyebrow, managing to look incredulous even without any eyes.

"No? She was helpless, and you took away what gave her life meaning." He walked towards me, slowly. "And let's not forget about that poor girl you met before. You know, the one with that wonderful dream about her sister? You brought her to tears, just by talking to her. Because you could. Now, doesn't that sound familiar at all?" He loomed over me now, his shadow covering the stands in which the unseeing audience sat. "Because to me, it sounds a lot like what your old friend did to you."

I took one step backwards, then another. The ground below me was slick with something, I didn't know what. The Corinthian leaned forward and leveled his chattering sockets with my eyes.

"Does that sound like the actions of a hero?" His sword was loose by his side. If I stuck him now, it'd be proving his point. Wouldn't it? I swallowed, and opened my mouth.

"I helped people. Dinah, Robert, Bitch..." I trailed off. He was laughing, his three mouths open wide and his shouted his amusement to the sky. Looking back down at me, he smirked.

"Maybe. Maybe their lives are even happier for you having been there. I mean, ignoring the fact that Dinah is going to be used as a tool of the Protectorate if she doesn't force them to acknowledge her independence. Ignoring that you thought bringing a young artist out into the endless desert without supplies was a great idea. And of course, you're not even sure what happened in Bitch's dream. Such a successful track record." His voice was sarcastic, his words dismissive. His smaller mouths opened and began to let out a wailing scream. I knew that scream.

"But do any of those really make up for the Simurgh?" He waved behind me, gesturing to the eyeless audience. They had changed, subtly even as the scream grew loud enough to drown out the world.

Each was dressed in the costume of a cape I had seen at Legend's memorial. I slipped in the muck under my feet, and fell forward. I grabbed onto the edge of the stands. They stared at me with empty sockets, and I could do nothing but stare back. Was this what I had done? The cape nearest to me, dressed in a bright green costume that did nothing to hide how he was missing half his chest, grabbed at me. The others joined in, and soon I was mobbed by the dead. They were grabbing at me, holding me down, but they weren't attacking. What was going on-

A bright line of pain lashed across my back and I spun, the capes around me disappearing. The tent was gone too, vanishing in a pale mist. The only landmarks in the now empty space were the Corinthian and myself.

"Don't you get it? Dreams are everything here. What you see, what you feel, what you are. You need to know yourself, and more than that, you need to know your dreams." He vanished and behind me his voice growled in triplicate.

"Let me demonstrate."

I was tackled by a massive white lion, it's eyes another set of massive teeth. My cloak helped hinder it's bites, but they still managed to bruise me somehow. I winced, dropping my sword on the ground. There went my weapon, I thought, rather blearily as the Corinthian, still that same dark and twisted presence regardless of his form, kicked it away. I was on my back, the massive paws of the beast pinning me down. He growled.

"All that power, and you fumble around like an infant, hitting things. What a waste. Who gave you this sort of power? They obviously made a mistake." The beast turned into a massive snake, the reptile wrapping around me before I could react. I couldn't react. It was true. I hadn't learned anything about my power when I had first set out. I had hurt people.

I deserved it.

The white snake shifted once again, and I was back in the locker. This time three girls weren't walking away, leaving tattered remnants of an old friendship behind. Instead a new tormentor appeared. It was me, my hair white and my skin pale. Instead of eyes a set of perfectly white teeth where visible in the girls sockets. She leaned forward, looking at me carefully. Like an insect on a pin.

"Just leave it all to me, okay? I'll be better at it than you. But first..."

She reached into the locker, and with practiced ease pulled out my right eye. I screamed. She popped it into her own right socket and the orb reoriented towards me. My mother's eye stared at me, surrounded by bloody teeth. She smiled.

"A souvenier. Have fun!"

She turned and walked away, her cloak a sheet of pure white cloth, speckled with black, shifting behind her.

I screamed. Screamed and beat my fist against the locker door. I kept one hand over my now missing eye. It thobbed, an aching void were a piece of me used to be. Not again. I couldn't do this again. The insects were crawling over my skin. Some of them bit me.

I cried. Half of it was blood, and that just made it hurt more.

"Let me out!" I shouted, voice cracking. "Let me out, damn it!" No one answered.

I forced myself to relax, my shoulders lifted almost to my ears. I had made it out of here once before. I could do it again. I closed my eye, ignoring the stabbing pain of the empty socket, and thought of the desert.

Everything promptly refused to change. A cockroach skittered over my shoulder and almost made it into my eye socket. I beat it away frantically, disgusted. I was frustrated. My sword was outside, where I couldn't get it. I was scared. I couldn't escape. I forced myself to think. The Corinthian had been giving me advice before he had locked me in here. The words came back slowly, my thoughts flowing like treacle.

See, feel, and are. Dreams were supposed to define those while I was here. They were those. I supposed that the attempt at getting to the throne room would count as 'seeing'. How about feeling? I closed my eye again and thought about the cool marble of the throne, the soft movement of my cloak, the weight of my sword across my lap. I could feel the locker fading, the clammy pressure of the refuse within it abating.

The I remember the feeling of my sword cutting right through Sophia's shadow. My won satisfaction. And then I was just Taylor Hebert once more, trapped inside the locker while everyone else was in class. I gasped. The locker was getting tighter, the light getting dimmer. Think Taylor think. The last word. 'Are'. Did he mean me physically? Or something else? I remembered my hand turning into a paw, my clothes turning into a gray and black uniform. The shock, and being something other than what I was.

The locker squeezed tighter, forcing the breath from my lungs as surely as the Corinthian's paw had. I had to give it a shot, regardless of my feelings. I imagined Alexandria as she flew through the sky, utterly confident in her own power. I thought of Legend, his effortless sacrifice. I pictured Scion, driven beyond words, his every action an attempt to help.

I dreamed of heroes. The locker squeezed tighter. I grew more desperate.

I thought of the white snake, it's constant trickery. The Simurgh appeared in my mind, accounting for every action, every thought.

And I dreamed of villains.

Then the Corinthian appeared in my mind. Effortless destruction, absolute control. The crowd, moving to his script. The landscape, bent to his will.

The girl, crushed under foot.

I dreamt of power, and the locker vanished.

I stood above the clouds, my two eyes blazing. I searched the vast emptiness for my erstwhile tormentor. Finally, sitting by a table that looked like it had been appropriated from a cafe, I saw him. I walked towards him, his size seeming to grow far faster than any distance change could account for. I twitched, feeling something on the edge of my awareness as I shrank back down to a more familiar size. I looked at him. He sipped his coffee, and looked at me.

"Why?" My voice echoed oddly in the void. Whispers surrounded me as surely as my cloak and sword and mind.

Nothing else had survived the trip.

He smiled, wide and honest, his teeth unstained. All three sets.

"You made it! I was beginning to wonder."

I looked at him, and he gestured to the empty chair standing by the table.

"Please, have a seat."

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> She does not know how flexible her own biology is yet.
> 
> Man fight scenes are hard.
> 
> No, the Corinthian can't usurp Dream. It was a bluff.
> 
> How did the Corinthian know about that stuff? As powerful as Taylor is and will be, at present she is... unsubtle at best. The greatest of the nightmares could, with some detective work, find out enough information to try and break her down.
> 
> What do you think?
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	21. As Real As Anything 3.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3/s
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> As Real As Anything
> 
> 3.4

[]

I sat down at the cafe table. Now that the rush of power had left me, I had plenty of questions. First of all...

"Why the table?" What great priorities Taylor. Truly your incisive intellect would serve you well in your future. He laughed. I stared. It... wasn't mocking? Once he finished laughed he leaned back in his chair and shrugged.

"It's a kind of tradition I suppose, a place where two enemies can meet and talk. My memory is kind of hazy though, and I can't remember where it came from. Just one of those things I suppose." I frowned, focusing on the important word in the dross.

"Enemies?" I asked cautiously. 

He chuckled. The sound unsettled me, the tritone harmony grating across my ears. I scowled. "I'd certainly hope not. That would not be good for my prospects. If all goes well, we should be best friends." He sipped some more of his coffee. I did the same, grimacing. Never liked the stuff, honestly. I preferred to wake up on my own.

"Then the locker, the crowd, my eye..." I glared at him. He looked at me, utterly nonchalant.

"You needed it. You needed to stop holding yourself back." He said it so calmly too, like it was obvious. I slammed my hands on the table, rattling the saucers. He looked completely unruffled. Bastard.

"Why. My. Eye." I bit the words out through gritted teeth. He snorted. What was funny? I heard him mutter something. He looked at me.

"What about it? It's there, isn't it?" I blinked and, when the action brought me no pain, I realized he was right. I conjured a mirror out of silver sand, using up my days supply. I really had to get a better way of carrying it around. In the mirror I saw my face. With both eyes. I felt them water and and blinked the tears away furiously. I turned back to him. He was watching me, face contemplative.

"What?" I snapped. With a snap of teeth that very closely resembled a blink he seemed to refocus. He put his hands up, placating.

"Nothing. Just... comparing you to an old, friend? I guess that works." His voice was distant, and I could tell his attention wasn't all there. I decided to change topic. I reached out with my sensed even as I took another sip of coffee. Disgusting stuff, honestly. The Corinthian wasn't as frightening as before, the icy focus that had seemed so sharp and dangerous before having left. He was a pool of shadow in a man shaped hole. I decided not to disturb it. I didn't want to repeat the experience I had felt last time, or piss him off now that it looked like he wasn't going to kill me. He looked almost relaxed. It was odd, after the manic energy he had displayed earlier.

The twist was still there, though, and I recoiled from it. It felt wrong, in some subtle but indefinable way. My coffee cup was empty now, and I placed it back on the saucer.

"You still haven't explained why, " I noted. "No lasting damage does not excuse the pain." He nodded absently.

"You needed to let go. What better way to do that, than loss and pain?" He looked genuinely confused. I knew how he felt.

"I could think of a few ways." I replied. He nodded, smiling.

"Exactly. I can't." He said it so simply, so matter of fact. I stared for a moment.

"What do you mean, you can't?" He shrugged, looking at his coffee. He didn't seem regretful, and resigned was the wrong word. He looked at me, his mouths shut.

"Exactly what I said. I'm a nightmare, you don't know what that means, but you will. It means that I am restricted to certain patterns. Archetypes. It's like..." The Corinthian pursed his lips, trying to come up with appropriate metaphor.

"You know how humans only see three types of light, and no matter how hard they try, they can never really imagine what the world would look like if they could see ultraviolet?" I nodded. "It's like that. I can hear the words: Love and understanding. But I just can't see it." His smaller mouths snapped then.

"You know that humans can see what the world looks like in ultraviolet, right? With the right cameras..." He waved his hand in the air and slipped his sunglasses back on.

"That's not the point. You know, for someone of your position you seem to be almost obtuse at times. I can't help but wonder if it's an occupational hazard. The point it is, and I reiterate, that it doesn't come naturally. It's not something that I can internalize. You're right, though, I can make a pretty decent approximation. I was designed to be the Nightmare of Man's Inner Demon, his Dark Reflection. So I've got a bit more room to maneuver than your standard Brute. But the fact remains that it doesn't come naturally." He shook his head as though clearing cobwebs from his hair.

"Someone of my position?" I asked, curious.

"You are Dream," he said, pointing at me. He pointed at the table. "That is Dream." Himself. "I am Dream. But above all, you are the dream. Dreaming. Dreamer. Whatever." He finished his coffee and put it down. "The difference between you and me is that while I am you and you are me, I am not the table, but you are. The Endless, Dream. And I am your subject."

I shook my head, confused.

"What does that mean? Endless."

"Exactly what it sounds like." He gave me a Cheshire Cat grin. I couldn't see it, but I assumed it was three-fold. "Within your domain, you are limitless."

"And you are?"

"That actually relates to what I wanted to talk to you about. I am rather limited, as I explained. Your humble servant, in many ways, my lady." He executed a miniature bow in his seat, head bobbing.

The sky turned red, and the dark carnival sprung up around our little table. The Corinthian looked around, panicking. What was going on?

"Are you all ri-"

"Hey, who's the new girl?" The Corinthian and I turned, to face the newcomer.

The handsome face seemed familiar somehow, I thought. Like I had seen it before. I looked between him and the Corinthian. Beyond the obvious colouration differences, their clothing choices and posture seemed remarkably similar. Was this the Corinthian's dreamer? I looked around, noting that the demented carnival had returned to town. I couldn't say anything about his personality, of course, but given the Corinthian's status as a nightmare, and not a minor one either, it made sense that his... friend wouldn't exactly be the most well-adjusted person. I tensed, ready for an awkward conversation. I looked across the table. The Corinthian was fidgeting, nervous.

The newcomer seemed very self-assured in his dream, and I watched as a mutilated concession stand owner handed him a lemonade. Which he then supplemented with ice cubes, conjured out of nowhere. My eyebrow rose. The Corinthian had taught him some things apparently. If he had any talent at all, he could be dangerous. Just the basics of dreamwalking could do a lot of harm, letting you see the deepest parts of a target's mind. I frowned. There could be problems, there.

His carrier walked up to him, and leaned all the way over him. Oh wow. I was glad I had my hood on. That was... something. Unfortunately the Corinthian looked even more flustered than before, his face flushing bright red lacking my hood. That was odd, why would he...

Oh. Well, then. I supposed this was what he wanted to talk to me about. I shrugged, seeing little reason to interfere. It seemed relatively harmless. And while he insisted that he couldn't feel anything like love, this display made me skeptical. Really though, what was all the fuss about.

His companion stood up, and looked at me again, a small smirk on his face.

"Hi. My name's Jack. What's yours?" The smile on his face stretched to proportions rather too large for his face. I knew that face. Everyone knew that face.

The Corinthian's companion was Jack Fucking Slash.

I shook his hand, running on automatic. I could hear myself introducing myself as Dream, before asking Jack Slash if it would be alright to take the source of his powers off to the side for a little talk.

"Start explaining. Now." My voice was hard and angry. I felt almost betrayed. I had thought the Corinthian to be, if not good, then certainly not evil. Certainly not good friends, or more, with the leader of the Slaughterhouse 9, a criminal organization that all but defined S-Class for most capes. A wandering troupe of murderers, torturers and worse, all under the control and leadership of one man.

Who I had just shaken hands with, and was even now amusing himself throwing darts at a hanging body.

The Corinthian seemed frightened, deathly so, and when he spoke a stutter marred his normally smooth voice.

"Well, you see..."

"No," I cut him off. "Explain why you are with him. Why you are teaching him things, dangerous things." My eyes burned into him, light reflecting off his sunglasses.

He stopped and slumped. Then he collected himself and stared off into the sky.

"He was... beautiful. You weren't there then, you wouldn't know. He had been just a street thug, but even then he inspired such terror. It was magnificent." He sighed then, a faint blush on his cheeks. "I'm a dream. Inspiration is part of what I am, for good or for ill. I saw him, I saw how good he was... and how much better he could be. I couldn't resist. And when we joined... it was glorious." A tremor ran through the Corinthian's body and her turned to face me, removing his glasses. His eyes were chattering, opening and closing non-stop."

"I love him." I nodded. I could understand, even, and that surprised me. A nightmare like the Corinthian, faced with someone like Jack Slash? How could he resist?

I frowned. How could he not? Something was wrong.

"I thought you couldn't love." He stared at me for a moment, and then he slumped.

"I can't. But this is as close as I can come." I nodded slowly. He seemed distraught, and I couldn't blame him. But the damage that would happen otherwise... I couldn't let it continue. Not Jack Slash.

"You know you have to leave him."

He froze.

"You can't stay with him. It's not..." I sighed. This was a hard thing to say. "It's not right. I'm sorry."

He muttered something under his breath. I leaned in closer.

"What was that?" Another mutter. I lifted an eyebrow. This seemed out of character.

"I'm sorr-"

"No."

"What?" Why?

The force of the shout that followed made it more impact than sound, as a massive 'No' exploded from the Corinthian. I was knocked back, sent flying into a novelty store, selling realistic body parts. The Corinthian was staring at me. Jack was staring at him. The Corinthian balled his fists, and spoke again.

"No. I won't let you take him away from me."

I stood up, mostly unhurt. I had hoped that this could end peacefully, but it seemed not. I drew my sword. The Corinthian shivered, casting one last, longing look at Jack. He seemed to come to a decision.

He disappeared, and the world cracked.

Jack screamed like a dying man.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Was this surprising enough for you? Split loyalties (and minds) abound. The Corinthian is still flawed. Less than before, but he is not the perfect nightmare he could be.
> 
> The Corinthian thinks the problem is falling in love (or whatever his approximation is), and interacting with people who aren't really dreaming. Dream doesn't care about the first, only that he stepped outside his bounds. Taylor, on the other hand, is focusing on it being Jack Slash who the Corinthian has a crush on.
> 
> A communications disaster follows. Oops.
> 
> And yes, old toothy-eyes is gay, if not bi- or something broader. Word of Gaiman.
> 
> 4th Longest Sandman Story on Ao3 and rising fast. There's a disturbing number of Avengers crossovers... Also sex. Ugh. It's not even well justified half the time. (Might be generous)
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	22. As Real As Anything 3.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dreams won't let me be.
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> As Real As Anything
> 
> 3.5

[]

The hole the Corinthian had torn in the world seemed to bleed, leaking colour. I could feel the threads that had tied him to the dream snap. One was holding out longer than the others. I followed the blood red strand back to its source, and was unsurprised to find Jack Slash at the end of it. Then the thread snapped and he convulsed, throat to tight to even scream. He looked awful, his body torn apart from the inside. It seemed almost as though someone had dragged small hooks out through his flesh. Grimacing, I checked the dream, seeing similar damage done there. He blinked slowly, his eyes blank and unseeing. He was going to die.

I growled, feeling the Corinthian disappear from my senses. If he was still in the dreaming, he was hiding well. If he wasn't... I shook my head, filled with the images of what the Corinthian could do if set loose on a city. He could be worse than the almost corpse lying in front of me. I needed to track him down, fast. But how? Tracking him through the dream was iffy at best, given that he seemed to know his way around a lot better than me. Idly I repaired the hole, smoothing it over with a thought. I had learned a lot about manipulating dreams from him, regardless of how terrifying his tutelage might have been. He likely knew a lot more.

I frowned. He could've helped me. But no, once again Taylor Hebert had to open her big mouth and ruin her best chance of getting anything done.

I shook my head. It was too late for that sort of thing. I had to track him down anyway, if I wanted to do anything.

I looked at the murderer in front of me. He might be able to do it. He had known the Corinthian for quite a while. More than that, the Corinthian might let himself be caught. If it was Jack. Around us the dark carnival was losing definition. I couldn't trust him. He'd stab me in the back at the first opportunity. I checked the unraveling parts of his mind. I could fix him, I knew. It wouldn't even be that hard.

Could I make him better?

I got to work, weaving threads together, making new patterns. I went deeper into his mind, trying to find his most fundamental dreams. Empty spaces dotted the mental landscape. The Corinthian must have taken things with him. Everything else, however, seemed mostly intact. Violence, a thread that seemed corded like a muscle, still thrummed strongly. Mockery and deceit did as well. A dream of proving himself better than others thought, stronger, more intelligent and adroit. All were secondary to his love of pain and death, a thick black strand that wrapped around his mind, holding it together.

I ripped it out without a second thought and dove deep. Jack screamed, his flesh destroyed anew. The visions that passed me, his most secret, most powerful fantasies, were sickening. As disgusting as his carnival had been his mind was ten times worse.

I reached the bottom and stood in a pit of despair. Around my feet squirmed people, each twisted from the inside in some unique and painful way, moaning and weeping. Their cries echoed around the hole, reaching the top, where a black metal throne sat.

I had what I needed. The vision disappeared. Green and vibrant grass sprung under my feet. The red rained from the sky and the sun rose, leaving it a brilliant blue. The carnival fell, taking the people 

Instead of a twisted Carnival, a Castle rose around us, like something out a fairy tale. In the yard gallant knights jousted, trying to win the watching ladies favours. They were looked upon by the men of the court, jewels and finery proclaiming their stations loudly. In the distance, a tower rose. An heir to the throne, prevented from taking their rightful place due to something that hadn't been right from the start was ensconced in the uppermost room. The kind of tower one might find a princess in.

We weren't there. Power rushed through me, around me, as I continued to shape the scene, mind mind adrift. We stood outside, separated from the crowds inside with their celebrations and joys. Armor began to form, thick plates sliding over wounded skin. It would keep him alive. The helmet formed. The armor was black and angled oddly. 

I forced his attention to the tower, filled his head with dreams and woke him up. My Black Knight.

I shuddered. That had felt... right. Which was wrong. I pushed the discussion out of my thoughts. It wouldn't matter if I didn't stop the Corinthian.

I summoned my door, and ran back into my castle. I went to the hallway of doors, trying to find something that would give me a clue as to where he was.

The doors stayed the same, white and uniform. I scowled. I knew, intellectually, that this is why I had done what I had done with Jack. It hurt my pride, though. I went upstairs to the library, feeling Jack on the edge of my perception.

Maybe the Tin Mother could help.

[]

I was sitting in the library reading a book. Apparently, my actions with Jack hadn't been without consequences. I grimaced. There was a word that was becoming more and more relevant by the day. I continued reading.

It was Jack's book. Or the Black Knight's. I hadn't done as good a job as I might have wished, since the book seemed more like one story hastily written over the other than any true editing. Which I supposed might be accurate. The text was overlaid, one over the other in a hodgepodge that made my eyes hurt. The early chapters were written in a neat style, each word carefully placed and meticulously chosen. Sometimes, the writing would cramp together and grow jagged.

More often there were disquieting blank pages.

Near the end another writer appeared. My handwriting wrote itself across pages, obscuring the neat font beneath. Sometimes the two would write the same thing, a bizarre visual echo. More often they would contradict each other.

It probably should have worried me more that the agreements were growing more numerous as the story dragged on, my handwriting often obscuring his completely.

My attention shifted back to the words themselves when a phrase caught my eye. Golden girl, Victoria. I kept reading, but the story had already moved on. I slipped the book into my cloak, noticing for the first time that I had nothing else on. My clothes had been destroyed in the first fight with the Corinthian. I had no more regular clothes. I shifted the cloak around myself, dreaming of a comfortable pair of pants and a short shirt, with appropriate undergarments. My cloak changed, becoming what I wished. It was surprisingly well fitted.

Modesty thus ensured, I headed towards the exit and something caught my eye. The door to the white painting room was ever so slightly open. I opened it fully, and stepped inside.

Nothing seemed different. How disappointing. I turned to leave, but then I noticed something. The painting at the far end was a mirror, the odd helmet it had shown earlier still painted on its surface. As before, the helmet seemed to reflect light at strange angles, a strange mix of crystal and bone. I walked towards the mirror, my reflection approaching me in turn. I reached for the glass, my reflection's hands grasping the helmet.

I felt the helm's weight in my hands, even as the mirror became a painting again. Looking down, I hefted it, reaching down with my senses.

The helm felt old. Older than words could describe. It offered power and authority. It offered a solution. It offered dissolution.

I shoved the helmet back. It was dangerous. I knew, somehow, if I put it on there was no going back.

From what, I had no idea.

That scared me more than anything else.

I left the white room with steps a bit too fast to be casual, heading with almost unusual determination to my goal.

The book had written in one more word, one that I hadn't noticed when I had first read it over and seen mention of the golden Victoria.

It was a name.

Panacea.

[]

The first thing that popped into my head after I arrived in the dream was horror at the devastation. The Corinthian had been here for hardly any time at all before he had left, off to the next step in his journey. The Black Knight hadn't been here for more than a moment.

But the beautiful house was destroyed. A hole punched through one wall on the ground floor and another on the second floor, exposing the bedroom. Inside, I could see three forms. Two I recognized, Victoria and Amy. Or, more truthfully, Panacea and the dream she had of her sister. Both wearing what they had worn the last time I had saw them. A white shift with red crosses on the back and front for Panacea, and white dress and golden tiara for the object of her desire.

I entered the bedroom.

The third figure was almost unrecognizable. Chunks had been torn out of her flesh, marks that looked like bites on what little skin was left intact. It seemed to be wearing armor of sorts, crafted out of bone. Chains were wrapped around the figure's limbs. Panacea was bent over the body, her dream-sister comforting her. She was sobbing.

I felt sick. I had hurt this girl not once, but twice. Worse, the figure on the floor was most likely her shard. The greatest healer on the face of the planet was now just another girl. Because of me. My fault.

My responsibility. I cleared my throat, and Panacea- No, Amy. She couldn't be Panacea anymore. She turned to me, slowly, her eyes red.

"You!" She was angry. But more than that, she was afraid. I bowed my head.

"I'm sorry. For before... and for this." She reared back as if slapped.

"You- You did this." I nodded, miserable.

"Indire-" She rushed at me, her arms extended. I could take her, I thought. I didn't want to. I didn't want to hurt her again.

I braced myself for the punch.

I was so surprised when she hugged me that I could hardly even hear the whispered 'thank you' she gave to my cloak. She was rather short.

I hugged her back hesitantly.

"So, you're not... upset, about your powers?" She broke the hug, and shook her head vigorously.

"Do you know how stressful it is, knowing that you - and only you - might be the difference between someone living or dying? Or being crippled for life?" I didn't answer and she laughed. "Of course you don't! But it's awful." She stopped, taking in a deep breath.

"It's awful, knowing that any time you spend having fun, relaxing, or even just sleeping is another person who needed your help. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But since I had it, I had to use it right." She spread her arms wide and spun, laughing joyously.

"But now it's gone! Now I don't have to make that choice! I don't have to deal with all the temptations and awful potential of it all anymore!" She laughed again, falling into the golden idol's arms. I looked at the body on the ground more carefully and reeled. The images... flesh flowing under skilled hands, the building blocks of life reduced to a plaything. I shuddered.

I was very glad it had gone to Amy. I didn't want to imagine what a villain might have done with that power. The visions flashed before me anyway, terrifying in their scope. I shook my head, and looked back at Amy.

She was still in her sister's arms. I coughed.

"So, I suppose if I offered to restore them, you would say no." She froze. She seemed almost sick. Slowly, she shook her head.

"N-No. I know it's wrong, and I'm an awful person for turning it down, but no. Not at that price. Not again." She seemed like she was about to throw up. Scared and disgusted. I nodded slowly. With a gesture I dissolved the shard, feeling it lose coherence entirely. I turned my attentions to the house, looking at Amy out of the corner of my eye. The golden idol had as forceful a presence as before, but this time I kept my attention focused on Amy. Her eyes weren't as glazed as before, and she looked sad.

I had an idea. I was going to fix this. Carefully, keeping my eyes focused on the wall I was repairing, I pulled on the threads of the golden girl. She was perfect, in a number of ways, but it was set up like filigree, the threads thin and unsupported. I pulled them off from around the figure and wound them around a different target, making them stronger as I did so. Idly I decided to bring up the other thing she was probably angry at me about.

"What about your sister?" She flinched, her eyes pointed at the floor. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, trying to keep her emotions under control. The very ends of the threads I had been working with were still attached to the shape of her sister, but without the framework the figure was beginning to lose consistency, liquifying into some orange substance. Quickly I expanded my perception and grabbed some threads from the actual sister, dreaming nearby. I wrapped them around the figure, stabilizing it before Amy could notice. The golden girl wasn't so golden anymore, but far more honest.

That was close. Amy was talking, I noted, listening with half an ear.

"I- You were right. My dreams were unrealistic, and dangerous. I shouldn't have had them." Her voice was thick with shame and guilt, her eyes wet. I shook my head, smiling softly.

"No. I was in the wrong. I shouldn't have asked you to change your dreams. It wasn't my business." I thought of Jack, and how it had felt to invade his deepest dreams. Even if I had a good reason, I wouldn't want to do that again.

"Besides," I said as I finished the work I was doing, my voice light and airy. "Who knows what dreams might come true in the morning?" I winked.

She looked at me, bewildered. Then she smiled, lighting up the room. Literally.

I smiled back. I hoped this worked, giv-

I felt something change dramatically in my connection with my knight. Quickly, almost panicky, I pulled the book out of my cloak, opening it to the last page.

There, written in one of those moments of ever-increasing synchronicity, was one name that chilled me to the bone.

Nilbog.

I looked at her, blood draining from my face.

"I have to go."

I raced through the door, slamming it shut behind me.

I was too late.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> She's scary man. Losing her... temper like that.
> 
> Only one update tonight. Things got rather hectic, and this one took a lot longer than expected. There should be two tomorrow though.
> 
> The PRT is going to start drinking heavily.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	23. As Real As Anything 3.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All shall hail to the Goblin King.
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> As Real As Anything
> 
> 3.6

[]

I wasn't in the dreaming. And that could only mean one thing.

Nilbog had been awake, and the Corinthian had attacked anyway.

As I entered the city that Nilbog had claimed as his own, using the army of monsters his powers gave him, I looked around.

It was early morning, the sky a pale pink. The air was chilly, but calm enough to still be pleasant. All in all, a perfect February day.

Carnage like what now littered the streets of Ellisburg shouldn't happen on days like this. But the universe didn't care about thematic appropriateness. The air was damp and smelled like oil. Strange clouds hung low to the ground, too dense to rise. The streets were crisscrossed with orange-grey ropes. The cords were fleshy and soft when my foot squished in tiny tendrils reached up and brushed my leg, gently. I shuddered, looking around the city of Nilbog. It seemed alive. Some of the buildings were covered in thrumming masses of orange-grey flesh, and the cords that crisscrossed the ground were echoed in they sky, hanging off of power lines. Swaying in the breeze.

I stepped around a massive grey beast that lay quivering on the ground. Its legs seemed much to small for the things size, and it had toppled when they had been cut. A mouth was positioned at one end of the tube that made up its body, opening and closing blindly. As I watched it split, the skin of its cylindrical torso peeling like a banana. From inside the creatures corpse swarmed a million tiny spiders, pale and shining, skittering over the pavement and the nearby buildings. A pungent smell filled the air.

I left in a hurry, following the trail of destruction the Corinthian and the Knight had left behind them. Various creatures, some grey, others orange, and others even stranger colours that I couldn't find the words to describe were scattered around the streets, in the shadows of the living city. Early on, I saw cuts and slashes that opened up the bizarre inhabitants of Ellisburg and spilled their insides onto the streets. Colors mixed and swirled across the streets, their smells nearly overwhelming. As I watched, I could see the fluids taken up into the strands that crisscrossed the streets. I could hear faint splashes as the tendrils reached for the actual flesh of whatever unfortunate creature was nearby, liquefying the body in order to absorb the solid portions as well.

I went deeper into Nilbog's city. The wounds were becoming less and less like what I'd expect from a sword. The monsters were now torn apart as if by claws, and had bites taken out of them. I stumbled over a ripped off tentacle, taking a knee on the streets. The tendrils reached up, trying to wrap around me. I slashed at the cords they came from, severing them and scoring deep cuts in the concrete below them. They stopped, limp and apparently lifeless.

I had to find them before they could leave. If they left, the next place they went to might not be as appropriate for the sort of violence they could unleash.

I walked by what had probably been a condo, decorated by a hole punched through its side. I shuddered.

Monsters.

I kept walking, sword drawn and held tightly in my hand.

Finally I entered the court of the Goblin King. A heady smell hit my nostrils, like a spice that I couldn't name. The ground of the court wasn't crisscrossed with the same cords that extended throughout the rest of the city. Instead it was coated with irregular tiles whose iridescent shimmers made me think of beetles. On a throne overlooking the plaza, shaded by a canopy of skin, sat the king of the city himself. Nilbog. His throne coiled around him, grey and misshaped. Tentacles extended from its back, caressing the madman that sat within. I swore that some of them extended inside him. One thing was missing though.

I couldn't see his dream. I extended my senses, probing the area around him, and felt nothing. Just the city, it's king, and it's victims. There was nothing, I thought.

Nothing at all. I opened my eyes, spinning around. I cast my perception wide, and it engulfed the city. Far outside the walls there were people, serving as Nilbog's guards. I wasn't interested in them. I was interested in the city. It was alive, a megalithic creature whose organs and repair systems were alive themselves, who's body could be described as an ecosystem. I felt the tiny creatures that served as it's immune system swarm over the path that the two had carved into the megafauna. The blood rushing through its carpet of veins. The same things I had been stepping on.

Or was that the digestive system, I thought more than a little hysterically. My pupils were dilated fully, taking in the entirety of the vast city.

The city was Nilbog's dream, and it was here. Awake. Shuddering, I turned my attention back to the dreamer, and his court, wondering how such a being must feel. Busy, I supposed.

Around the king, a throng of courtiers seemed to be having a ball. Musicians played high pitched, piping music that filled the air and scratched at my ears. The power lines, covered in the fleshy tendrils like everywhere else, had oddly shaped lanterns hanging from them, giving off light in a million hues that danced and played on the court below. The nobles of the court, colorful flaps of skin shaped in a number of increasingly bizarre parodies of historical and modern fashions, stood flanking their king. I could hear flesh hitting flesh as they moved. That was rare though, as they all watched the drama going on inside the ring of bodies, facing the middle with eyes that looked human, insect, squid, fish and others that seemed completely alien to me. Some of them didn't seem to have eyes at all, and I wondered how they were paying such apparently close attention. Sonar, maybe?

In the centre of the ring the Knight and the Nightmare circled each other, completely silent. The Corinthian's face was twisted, his mouths forming a grimace of pain in triplicate. I couldn't see the face of Jack behind the helm he wore, abolishing his features in favor of a dark slit on a black expanse.

Then they fought. The Corinthian was clearly the better fighter, his blade striking Jack more often than not. But he wasn't drawing blood, the sword bouncing off the armor. Jack, on the other hand, swung almost recklessly, exploiting his apparently impervious armor to the hilt.

The nightmare was holding back. I saw a few times where he could have slipped the point of his sword through a gap in the Black Knight's defense. He could have ended it already. He wasn't going all out.

His opponent was, and swung at whatever vital he could. The Corinthian had so far managed to avoid being hit by virtue of his speed, but that couldn't last. The longer this fight dragged on, the more tired he would get, and the more likely it would be that a lucky strike would slip through his guard. Around us the crowd shifted, growing impatient. The Corinthian looked to me, meeting my stare. His not-eyes widened and he almost took a sword to the gut for his trouble. Refocusing his attention, his face settling into a grim expression the Corinthian began to move.

It wasn't even a contest. He danced around the Black Knight's blade, slipping in blow after blow. My creation, my monster began to grow desperate, the threads that made him whipping through the dreaming. My eyes widened as they grabbed onto pieces and pulled. The dreaming was forced into reality, and the world screamed at the impossibility. A dragon's skull landed among the gossiping nobles, crushing a few. Nilbog clapped a little in his seat, delighted. Masonry from an ancient castle, pieces of armor, even a tapestry or two all fell around us.

They kept fighting, the Corinthian even more focused than before. A quick flurry of blows, and it was over. Jack was on the ground, bleeding heavily from his side. The Corinthian stood over him, his face expressionless. He turned to me.

"Well, won't you come forward? This must end at some point, and I am not so foolish as to delay the inevitable." His voice was empty, and formal. Around us the pieces of the dreaming faded. I stepped forward slowly, my cloak and hair waving behind me. Nilbog was looking at me, his eyes unusually focused. The he clapped, his wrists limp and his motions exaggerated.

"Excellent! What wonderful theatre! Continue, I shall allow it!" His voice was oddly lilting, and whistles would seem to sneak in the place of vowels. It didn't sound like any known language, the accent of a madman. The fact that he sounded so human, considering the power he held, the horror he lived and made on a daily basis, was more terrifying than anything the city had to offer. What sort of creature was man? I thought, my mind jumping back to Hamlet of all things. So noble in form, infinite in faculties...

Incalculable in depravity. I dismissed the thought. He was irrelevant, for all his power and rage.

This wasn't his fight.

I looked the Corinthian over, noting how tense his muscles were, how set his expression. He wasn't comfortable with this at all.

"Why?" He looked at me for a moment.

"Because I want to keep something I've gained. I will fulfill my duty, or die trying."

With that, the fight began. This wasn't the brief battle we'd had in the carnival. He was going all out.

Well then. So was I. I called upon the dreams that I had made for Jack Slash, the sword that he had acquired disappearing. My strikes were surer now, and my cloak made up for the rest. But that wasn't going to be sufficient. The Corinthian had beat Jack at this, and I was under few illusions that he'd do the same to me. I couldn't craft a dream on the fly like this, couldn't gain the advantage that way. I needed a different tool.

I think I had it. I closed my eyes and, utterly fearless, put my sword arm in the way of his blade. It dug deep, biting into bone. But I ignored the part of my brain shouting about how I should be screaming on the floor. How I should be in pain. How I should be scared out of my mind.

He was a nightmare, and he worked through fear. I had none. I was more than he could be, by his own admission.

I ignored the smell of blood and ink that filled the air, as rivulets of the liquid poured down my arm. I wasn't going to back down. He swung at me. I took his arm off at the shoulder, my sword shearing though his arm with ease. Before he could respond to that, I pressed my advantage and stabbed him through the gut. He was pinned to the floor, like a butterfly on a collector's board.

He was a dream, a scary story. And I gave him no purchase.

He lay down on the ground, staring blankly at the sky. My senses told me he was still alive. Slowly, he opened his mouth.

"I just wanted to do my duty. That's all. I really cared about it." His voice was rough with suppressed emotion.

Truth.

"I know." That had been part of the problem, the twist I could sense in him. Breaking him apart. He continued, barely paying me any heed. His neck wasn't supporting his head properly, so I reached down and did it for him, keeping his eyes trained on the bright blue sky.

"I never asked to fall in love." The Corinthian kept his focus on the sky. A cloud slowly passed by over head. Maybe it looked like a weasel.

Or maybe it was just a cloud.

"No one ever does, when they do."

"Will... Will it hurt?" No more so than now. I didn't say that. I paused for a moment, before replying, voice soft.

"As much as falling asleep."

I was quiet. His breathing slowed, and the teeth in his sockets closed together with a soft clack.

"Good."

I reached down, and picked up some sand. A pinch was all I needed.

I released the sand, and put my hand on the Corinthian's forehead. His form vanished, a mass of sand in the shaape of a man. I plucked what was left from the pile.

A tiny skull, teeth in its sockets. Perfect, with one flaw.

I looked at it, an idea crystallizing in my mind. My eyes still on the skull of the Corinthian, I reached over to where Jack was with my senses. He was almost gone. I didn't care. He still had what I needed. I peeled the helmet of his head, it's shape shifting, shrinking.

I placed the helmet, still wet with Jack's blood, on the skull of the Corinthian.

There. I slipped the skull back into the depths of my cloak.

I was crying, I realized, my face wet with tears. I didn't notice Nilbog acting erratically, his gestures wide and sweeping, shouted out trills and whistles and other, less human sounds.

I didn't notice the Protectorate, led by Alexandria, floating above me in the clear blue sky.

I closed my eyes, still crying. I didn't know why. The sand whirled around me, a comforting presence, its touch soft on my skin. The smell of the city of Nilbog was scoured away.

I was back in the throne room before the fireworks started, my face dry and my eyes open.

It was done.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Trying to have more description and a little bit more internal bits from Taylor, after reading over the previous chapters. (I personally think 2.inf and 3.1 were the best so far, writing-wise. How about you?) Hope it worked, as I'm still trying to get a handle on the whole 'writing long work of fiction' thing.
> 
> 3.7 tomorrow. I should be back to more normal speeds by the weekend. (Well, normal for me anyway)
> 
> We are over 40, 000 words!
> 
> Nilbog's dream... isn't from something human. Not at all.
> 
> Kicking off a minor war is checked off Taylor's bucket list.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	24. As Real As Anything 3.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shouldn't have mentioned guilt. Lavanya Six gets a cookie.
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> As Real As Anything
> 
> 3.7

[]

The bar stool under me was uncomfortable, and not just because I hadn't gotten any new clothes before going out in public. My cloak certainly helped, but clothes that you can take off with a thought don't exactly offer reassurance in the face of embarrassment. The smell of beer, salty foods, oil and other, less pleasant things drifted around this backwoods bar. The raucous laughter of the people at the bar and the tables drowned out any attempt at conversation and I could only tell what the TV was saying because it had subtitles.

That changed, once the next segment came on. The image of the now vanished city of Ellisburg, a crater miles across, was basically everywhere nowadays. It was hard to prevent that sort of thing getting out. It was the other details I was here for, in the bar at the end of the world. I needed to know what kind of response there would be. I needed to know how dangerous it would be to go outside.

I watched someone look at me, their eyes wide. My clothes looked mostly normal. Black pants and shirt, only a subtle difference in how they moved compared to normal cloth showing that they were anything but.

Or maybe it was the lack of shoes. That might have been it.

"...an unknown Thinker who was in contact with Dragon is considered to be the primary reason that casualties were as small as they were. No word on specific abilities, but it is general consensus that the majority of the injuries and nearly all the fatalities occurred before she took the proverbial field. However this is still relative to the previous incidents with Nilbog, and casualty figures are, as yet, still not finalized. They currently stand at more than 30 members of the Protectorate and nearly ten times that many members of the PRT. Back to you Jack."

"Thank you Rose, and our hearts go out to those who've lost loved ones in this senseless, vicious tragedy." The anchorman turned back to the camera. "That was Rose Philips, our reporter on the ground by Ellisburg." A pause. "One wonders on exactly what, if anything, caused this conflict to begin. To try and answer that question we must turn to our PRT correspondent, in Washington. Howard, anything new?"

A new face slid into the frame from the right, expression somber. I winced.

"Thank you Jack. Earlier today the PRT released the footage it had of the events leading up to the fighting." A clip of Jack and the Corinthian, running through the streets of Ellisburg. They clashed occasionally, their strikes sending sparks up into the air. They cut their way through everything in their path, the camera overhead following them. I saw them cut down the massive creature I had stumbled across, sending it collapsing as if in slow motion to the ground.

Then they ended up in the court of Nilbog, and the Corinthian couldn't run any further. He looked around wildly, looking for an opening in Nilbog's personal guard, one he could get through without Jack catching up. Seeing nothing, he turned to face his pursuer. The clip froze and the anchorman stepped in.

"So Howard, what is it we have here?"

"Two parahumans, high-level Brutes at the least, were seen to go towards the centre of Ellisburg, causing a great deal of damage to the city. The interesting part isn't in that clip, however. It's not in any clip." He paused for dramatic effect. "The interesting part is that no one knows where they came from. They just seemed to appear in the city."

Jack leaned back, eyebrow raised. His expression of skepticism was almost comically exaggerated. "Really? No idea at all?"

Howard nods. "That isn't to say they don't have suspicions. Most of which relate to this clip."

A shot of me, as seen from overhead, walking slowly through the city. Compared to the monsters that had preceded me, my pace seemed almost nonchalant. The camera wasn't picking up the grimace that had been on my face, otherwise it would have looked rather different. My speed had been because of a lot of fear, not none of it. Howard was still talking.

"This figure is thought to be Dream, a parahuman first sighted in the Brockton Bay Area. Real name Taylor Hebert, age 15, she is considered an A-Class threat, with a capture-on-sight order. Lethal force authorized." He shook his head, face grave. "Trump, Striker, Tinker, Stranger, and a high-level Mover on top of that. Brute as well, judging by what happens next. The PRT suspects her to be capable of long-distance, multiple person teleportation. Why she would have gone to Ellisburg, no one knows."

The me in the clip arrived in the court and stopped at the far edge. The nobles of Nilbog's court seemed to part around me. That must've given the heroes quite a shock, I thought. Looked almost like he was respecting me.

The sword fight began.

"What we do know is that the two capes that had preceded her began to fight, the one in white eventually defeating his opponent with finality. After that, Dream intervened."

Me stepping forward, sword in hand. A brief interlude, a pause in the drama, and we began to fight. Eventually things happened as they must, and I pinned the Corinthian to the ground.

"Defeating the Brute that had managed to cut his way into Nilbog's sanctum and then doing something to his body, causing it to dissolve, Dream then took the helmet off the other combatant."

A close up shot. Jack Slash's infamous face.

"Revealing the face of Jack Slash. Facial recognition technology from Dragon confirms it, Jack Slash is dead. What will happen to the Slaughterhouse 9, his cabal of parahuman murderers, is still unknown and the members are still assumed to be active and dangerous."

The anchorman frowned.

"What does that mean about Dream? Was she allied with him? Enemies?"

Howard shook his head slowly.

"No one knows. Everyone has a lot of questions for Dream, wherever she is."

It was time to go. I stood up and paid for my drink. Far less suspicious than someone coming in and not buying anything, though the fact they hadn't bothered to ID me was worrying.

Whatever.

I stepped through the bathroom door and was gone before Dragon's suits arrived at a little Canadian bar in the middle of nowhere.

[]

It was evening and I was back in Brockton Bay, my cloak shifted into something a bit less conspicuous. I now had red socks! Still hadn't managed to do anything about the shoes though. Anything helped though, there was no telling how paranoid the local Protectorate had gotten, given all the things I had managed to do since I had gotten my powers... almost three months ago? Wow.

I guess time flew when you were ruining your life. I sighed. No thoughts like that. Sure, maybe I couldn't go out in public without risking arrest. Sure, you could say that I had a reputation as an unstable cape, whose powers let them go wherever they pleased. Sure, if one wanted to stretch a bit, one could call me personally responsible for major behavior changes in two of the biggest threats to continued existence of life on this planet.

They still didn't know where Nilbog was, his city having vanished beneath the waves.

I scowled, my covered feet slapping the concrete hard. That. Wasn't helping. Besides I had done some good. Dinah, Robert, one could even say I had done good things for Sophia and Amy in the end. It wasn't all awful.

I found myself reflecting on the irony of the universe later, when I came across an alley. Inside, a deep stab wound in her lower back, was Shadow Stalker. Sophia Hess. Her cloak was covering her left side, opposite the wound. He breath was slow and shallow.

What was she doing out here, in her cape outfit? She wouldn't have had any powers, especially not the shadow power she had relied upon for defense. I walked down the alley, confused. Was this some imitator?

Or had Sophia, unwilling to accept the loss of her power, of her motivation, decided to try being a cape without her powers? Without even the kind of defensive training she had likely missed out on, given her power?

It seemed extremely possible, and I swallowed, stomach turning. Was this what my actions did? Get people hurt? I stepped towards her, slowly, my feet cold on the dark alley brickwork. The socks were gone, the cloak back in its natural shape. The smell of blood surrounded her, and blood trickled from her ear, barely noticeable in the shadow of the building. I guessed she had managed to get the first one, maybe two, but the third had been too much for her. A single stab, a single power that couldn't be used, and Sophia Hess was down. Vulnerable.

Dying.

She'd never get up again. Even if I could get her to Panacea, that kind of brain injury... And Panacea wasn't even an option anymore.

Because of me. My power twisted peoples lives, my presence caused chaos. I hadn't even meant to do my worst offenses, just being there had caused the Protectorate and Nilbog to fight for the first time in almost a decade. The Simurgh had been an annoyance, and my irritation had killed people.

I felt sick, and tried to see if there was anything I could do. I bent down and checked her pulse. It was weak and fluttering. My cloak picked up the blood that pooled by its hem, staining the cloth red. My feet were wet with blood. I reached out with my senses, feeling for her threads. There were loose, and quickly unraveling.

Her breathing stopped. If I was going to do something, I had to do it now. I grabbed her threads in my hand, trying to keep them in place.

I tugged on them and pulled them tight, but they kept rising, pulling away from her body. I was losing her. I was losing myself. I shook my head violently and tried to think. I felt angry. My throat was tight and clenched, and my curses came in whispers, directed at me, her, everything. I had to give her something, something to anchor her if her body wasn't up to the job. I thought of a tiny skull, kept in my cloak, and shook my head.

No. Not now.

But it gave an idea. I closed my eyes, and I dreamt of Sophia. Vicious, cunning and quick. A bully, someone who would isolate the group and watch them crumble. Sharp and dangerous.

Someone I had to save. Someone I had wronged.

A shape formed in my mind, dark and winged, and it felt right. I lashed Sophia's strands to the shape and watched it form. I felt where her old nightmare had been tied to her, and that gave me purchase. I wove the new threads around her old ones, feeling them take a new shape. She had to live, even if she if it was as a dream.

I could feel her. Feel her dreams, her hopes and secret fears. I was one of them, a spectre in a black cloak. My face twisted as I went deeper, tying the last of the new threads around the very centre of her being. she hadn't deserved this.

No one deserved to have their dreams taken from them.

I finished, the threads now a coherent and stable framework, keeping her anchored. In front of me stood...

A rook. A rook that was looking around in a panic, before glaring at me, wings spread.

"You!" I backed up, hands in the air. Her voice had changed, a roughness to it that hadn't been there before. "What did you do?!"

I wet my lips, slowly. I would have to be careful.

"I saved your life." She scoffed, the sound more like a caw than anything else, keeping her eyes focused on me. They looked a lot like when she was human, I thought. That was something.

"And if I didn't want to be saved?" her voice grew quieter. "Especially by a... weakling like you." The word lacked the bite it usually had, and she was staring at the floor, trembling, wings half-open.

"I'm sorry." She snapped her head up, beak clicking. She froze for a moment, crossing her eyes. I fisted my hands in my cloak. She looked at me, her eyes blazing.

"Shut up! You just barge into my life and decide that you get to pass judgement on me? Because now you have power? How are you different!" The shout echoed in the narrow alleyway. That stung. Her eyes were wet, whether because of anger or sadness I didn't know.

"I want to help." She glared at me, before turning.

"Fuck your help." I sighed. This wasn't going well. She turned around, ready to fly away.

"I have an offer for you." She looked back at me, her eyes narrowed. A shuffle of feathers and she faced me again.

"What?" I swallowed.

"I need help. Advice." She scoffed, but her eyes were focused on me consideringly. "My powers... have consequences. You know it better than me. I need perspective. Or else people will get hurt. And I won't be able to help them." Nilbog, where I had rushed in without a thought. The Simurgh, where a lack of patience had led to one of the most devastating attacks yet.

Sophia, dead and turned into a rook.

It was those failures I thought of, my fists clenched, eyes creased. I had to try something, to make it up to the victim of my most personal one. My offer was made. I waited, and she gave me no response. I turned and began to walk out of the alley, the light from outside almost blinding.

"Wait." I looked back. "I died, didn't I. You brought me back." It wasn't a question. I nodded, grimacing. "That's my corpse. The police are going to find that, and they'll know I'm... I'm gone." Another nod.

"I'm in."

What. It was only when she started talking that I realized I had said it out loud. Her eyes were set and determined. She didn't like this.

I understood the feeling.

"I... I don't know what I can do anymore. You're doing things, even as badly as you are. I-" She sighed.

"I want to be a hero again. Someone who can change things. Even if it's by proxy."

I offered my hand, giving her a tentative smile, and she hopped onto my shoulder. We walked out of the alley together, both of us drained. She was looking at me funny, as if trying to figure something out. I made my way through the crowd, completely ignored.

"What happened to your glasses?"

I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. Was this some sort of joke? Someone jostled me, and didn't even bother to apologize.

"Your glasses. I broke them. Did you ever replace them?"

I froze in the street, people flowing around us. Their chatter washed over me. My glasses. Sophia had broken them with a headbutt. I hadn't replaced them since, but I'd been seeing fine.

... For almost three months. I started walking again, deciding not to answer the question. It didn't make a difference.

"Moron." She smirked. I could hear it in her voice. "You really do need my help, don't you?"

I rubbed my temples even as Sophia cackled.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> 3.inf tomorrow. Who can guess the focus character?
> 
> Sorry it's so late.
> 
> With regards to Sophia, she's had her soul restructured... three times in the past three months? Her personality is a little off kilter. Going out to find mobsters off kilter, agreeing to work with Taylor off kilter.
> 
> Taylor's got a voice of reason! It's not a very reasonable one.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	25. As Real As Anything 3.∞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreams shape you.
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> As Real As Anything
> 
> 3.∞

[]

I can't stop. Or he'll kill me.

My hands were red. This was unsurprising, as I was elbow deep in a subject. The organs were too soft, too fragile to survive long. They would have to be replaced before anything more useful could be implemented.

Have to keep going.

Behind me stood a mirror, large enough and curved enough to give a good coverage of the table. Jack had said that it would help, give them a concrete idea of what was happening to them. I agreed. Let them know what they had become. On reflection, the quaint diner probably wasn't the best place for a major surgery, but that's only if the life expectancy of the patients was an issue. It wasn't. Jack would wake up, and then we'd leave.

I looked at the clock. It was getting late. I dropped the upgrades into the chest cavity with a plop and a muffled gasp. It was time to eat. Jack had been asleep for a while. Maybe, maybe I could- No. Better not to even think about it. He'd wake up. He'd be back.

He was always back. The man at the counter smiled to me, as he should. His hair was matted with blood. He had been entirely too grumpy when I had arrived. I had fixed that. I fixed everything. I smiled at him in return and asked for a sandwich. No onions though.

I hated onions. They always made me cry. I took a seat at one of the tables, the red faux-leather benches high-backed and soft. The TV behind the counter was on, a newscast showing a cratered landscape. I bit into the sandwich. The meat reminded me of veal, freshly cut.

"... on a more positive note, Jack Slash, leader of the Slaughterhouse 9, has been presumed dead after his body was seen within Ellisburg earlier today. Why this was, nobody knows. But if it is true, it will lead to major changes in America's most infamous parahuman group. We now go to Sarah Walker, our expert on the PRT, Protectorate and 'Cape Culture'. Sarah-"

The TV clicked off, one of my spiders on its power button. I was sitting stock still, as unmoving as my next patients, who stood by the window, spiders on their necks.

Jack Slash. Dead.

No. It couldn't be. It was a cruel joke. He was never really gone. My mind flickered briefly to a woman, screaming under a knife. Then not screaming, energy spent and throat torn. I shook my head frantically.

I had to get back to work. I rushed over to the table where my latest friend was spread out, my feet clacking on the floor. I pulled out his organs quickly, re-purposing them with the help of my spiders. Here, a gland for acid. There, a gelatinous organ that would serve as a source of regenerative cells. In the limbs, spurs of bone, and in the body, plates.

I was done. An assassin and skirmisher rolled into one. I smiled proudly as my creation stood up from the table, legs unsteady. Acid was gushing from their claws.

But where was Jack? I looked around, hair whipping at my face. He should have been here by now. I looked at the door to where he had been sleeping. I could go in-

No. Then he'd just be angry when he came back. This was a test, and I couldn't fail.

Bonesaw was a good girl. She had to get back to work.

I went over to my next subject, wondering what he wanted from me. What I had to do, so that things would continue on as normal. I thought about it.

Jack had always said that people were monsters on the inside. It just took a little push to bring it out. A little pain to bring out the truth, a simple gift.

Like-

I shook my head. So, a push.

I went up to one of the women, and had the spider walk her over to the table. Her face was twisted up rather funnily, mouth pulled all the way down like an old tragedy mask. Her eyes were leaking and her nose was running. I looked her over. What was she afraid of? I wasn't Jack, could never be Jack. I had to try. I looked at her carefully, smile still firmly on my face. Signs of surgery, cosmetic. A wedding ring on her finger. She was glancing to one of the men standing by the wall. Her husband.

I brought him over, the spider on his neck twitching and clicking all the while. His suit was expensive, outrageously so for coming to a diner like this. Was their marriage in trouble? Or maybe they were really close?

I shrugged. It didn't matter.

"I'm going to help you, all right?" They nodded, the grinding off the spiders on their necks audible in the silence of the diner. "You love each other, right? I'm just going to make it easier for you. After all..." I nodded somberly, smile still on my face.

"... the basis of any healthy relationship is honesty."

My first job was peeling away all the concealing skin. I made sure that they were facing one another on the table. No point separating the happy couple as I brought them closer together. The muscles were stringy under my hands, and I frowned. This reminded me of a different scene, a different couple. The incisions were less clean then, but then it hadn't been for their benefit.

It had been for me. For Bonesaw. My smile faded, slowly. Before me the couple drew shuddering breaths in eerie synchronicity. I couldn't stop now. I was in too deep. I smiled broadly, my cheeks hurting. The blood was beginning to spread out across the table in spite of my best efforts.

"And how are you going to be honest if your spouse can't see the real you? The person inside?" I peeled the muscles off the bones and slid the ribcages together. "What's the saying? I keep forgetting..."

And little bit of fiddling, and the couples eyes widened in shock. I remembered the saying now.

"Oh, right, silly me. Two hearts that beat as one!" The lump was misshapen, but functional. I did the same with the lungs. The pulses I could see in the exposed arteries was the same for both of them, their heart beating a frantic pace. I kept working, binding nerves together and threading muscles over bone again. There was a chance of rejection, I supposed, but that was the cost you accepted when you got into a relationship.

When they left, it was like there was a gaping hole where your heart should be. I wrapped their arms around one another, the almost skeletal limbs stripped of most of their muscles, and sewed them into place. Finally I wrapped the skin around the form, tailoring it to fit the new proportions. I felt that Jack would be proud of me, helping two people make this sort of connection.

I turned around, expecting him to be behind me, a wide smile to congratulate my work. But there was no one there. Maybe I had to do more? Maybe he still wasn't satisfied?

I grabbed the next one in line and kept working.

Bonesaw was a good girl, and knew her duty.

[]

It was getting really dark when I ordered the spiders to bring the next one in line. The woman flopped down onto the ground. The smell was getting rather awful, blood and rot mixed in with preservatives and other chemicals. I looked at the woman's face, trying to get some inspiration for what I would do to her.

It was my mother's face, wide-eyed and pleading. The shadows seemed much darker all of a sudden, and the movements of my other subjects became more frantic, panicked. I swallowed, eyes wide. Could I do this? Would I do this?

Who would 'I' be if I did this?

In the end, the question remained as pointless as usual as a laceration opened her throat up. A red smile, grinning up at me. A small, quiet gurgle. My hands worked on automatic, the presence behind me more terrifying than what I was doing. My only tool the knife in my hand. I fixed her though, made her better, made it right.

And then the knife would come down again. Sometimes immediately. Sometimes after a while.

I kept working. I couldn't stop.

Or he'd kill me.

My eyes were unfocused, my efforts growing more and more haphazard as tears obscured my vision. I wiped my sleeves across my eyes, choking, but it didn't help. It never did. I had to see what I was doing with clear eyes, but I couldn't.

The last healing had barely been more than some simple stitches. It was over. The presence behind me, the knife ready to swing.

Then the presence vanished. Instead of Jack Slash's final blow, two voices came from behind me.

"This is an awful idea. I mean, really? It's fucking Bonesaw! Just go stab her and finish it, you know she deserves worse." The first voice was rough, and seemed to shout even when it was speaking. I shook my head mutely.

"It's my responsibility. Jack did this, with the Corinthian's help." Who? Did they mean Mannequin? "I have to do something."

"Fine. Fine, whatever. I still say you could be doing a lot more, and it's a pathetic waste. But sure, go ahead."

"I will, thank you." They didn't seem to get along very well. "Besides, last time I intervened directly, Nilbog decided to go on a road trip. If you really hate how I'm doing this, you could just leave."

"This is a rather different situation. Besides, you hardly seemed to hesitate about doing it to me." The voice was bitter. A shifting sound. I realized that the new cut might not happen, and got back to work, my fingers frantically pulling on poorly done stitches.

"What's done is done. Besides, look how well that turned out. I've learned since then." The voice was hard and angry. The rough voice just crowed out a laugh.

"In three days? I'm glad I've had such an effect on you." Her voice was saccharine. A pause, and then she snorted, dismissive.

The first voice spoke up, tone rigid and formal. "It is done. We should go."

"Fine."

There were footsteps, and then the sound of a door closing.

The TV turned on with a blaring jingle and I shot up from my crouching position. Below me, eyes wide, was a woman.

She wasn't my mother. Her hair, her face, her eyes... Everything was wrong. I reached for my knife, then stopped as the sound of sirens came from outside. I stood up, back aching. How long had I sat like that for? The knife was heavy in my hand. Outside stood a number of capes and PRT agents. Inside there was me and mine.

I should be able to make a break for it.

Jack would be disappointed if I was caught. I shuddered and signaled to my creations the positions they would have to take.

I stepped towards the door, hands up. I was planning on signaling my new friends when they inevitably focused on me. The sun blinded me as I stepped on to the concrete, the cold air not biting at my skin as it should. I had the modifications to thank for that. The signal should go... now-

The knife dropped from my hands. Wait, that wasn't right, the signal was-

The first shot took me in the stomach.

So did the next three. I was pretty sure the grenade was overkill though.

And Bonesaw, Riley, fell to the ground, containment foam already covering her form.

I smiled.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Because Jack was entirely too good at what he did, and the Corinthian gave him pointers. Act 3 is done (Thank goodness) Act 4 tomorrow.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	26. Prince of Dreams 4.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manifesto!
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Prince of Dreams
> 
> 4.1

[]

I was expanding, my reach growing by the hour. It was a strange feeling, my self reaching out and covering space.

It was also rather boring. There didn't seem to be anything other than desert outside my castle. I scowled, irritated. This wasn't getting anywhere.

"Are you seriously meditating?" I sighed, focusing my attention back on the throne room.

"Yes. Yes I am."

Sophia looked at me, head cocked to the side like... well a bird. "Why?" She seemed exasperated for some reason.

I shrugged, standing up from my throne and she hopped onto my shoulder. "Because I need to know more about my powers. About all of this." I gestured widely, encompassing the throne room. "It's my responsibility."

"That's what you said about the Slaughterhouse 9." A rustle of feathers. Her voice was deadpan.

"So were they." My footsteps echoed across the great hall, my feet bare on the cool marble.

I stumbled when she batted my head with a wing.

"Weren't you the one worried about your powers doing things to you without your notice? You changing? And you decided to... keep using them without pause. Great plan."

I scowled, rubbing the back of my head. "I have stuff to do-"

She cut me off with a raised wing. It was odd, how little she seemed to notice anymore. Worrying.

"When was the last time you met someone for reasons unrelated to your powers? Hell, when's the last time you slept?"

I thought about it.

"About two, three months ago. Why?" I pushed open the heavy doors at the end of the hall, and began to make my way down the stairs. Why they were so wide, I had no idea.

She stared at me. "Two to three- Okay. Stop."

I did, and looked at her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"You are going to open one of your weird doors, change that cloak into something a bit more normal, and you are going to spend a day doing normal things." Her tone brooked no argument.

"What about the Protectorate?" It was the main reason I hadn't been going out in public up until now, after all.

She scoffed, before glaring at me.

"What about them? You can just teleport away, can't you?"

I thought about it.

"Um... So what would count as 'normal' things?"

She shrugged. "Hanging out with friends?"

How helpful.

I thought about it. This time I had an idea. She looked at me expectantly as I called the relevant person to mind. I was ready to go-

Claws digging into my shoulder broke my concentration. Sophia seemed to be hanging on for dear life.

"What?" I asked, frustrated.

"Do you have any idea how boring this place is? I'm coming."

"No." Out of the question.

"You owe me."

I grimaced. "Fine. On one condition."

She nodded. Then her eyes grew wide as a stream of sand coiled around her beak, turning into a rubber band. She scratched at it ineffectually. She glared at me.

"No talking. That's not normal." I was smirking, I admit. The reversal was amusing. I was making my way up the stairs to the library. The long, long stairs.

I had to talk to the Tin Mother. She should be able to arrange things.

[]

Once I had finalized my plans I closed my eyes, and we were in New York. I had appointment to keep. The atmosphere of the city was as heady as I remembered, the myriad sounds and smells washing over me. My cloak had shifted at some point, becoming a well-tailored black suit, shoes included. Finally.

Sophia was still on my shoulder, settling for a constant glare when she realized she couldn't take the rubber band off. We turned off of Atlantic Avenue, making our way to the restaurant that I had made a reservation at. I picked up a newspaper on the way, the gold coin I wanted to use to pay it with not being accepted by the machine.

I scowled and shrunk the coin a bit.

There. It fit. As I approached the restaurant, I wondered what the staff had thought when they had seen my reservation pop out of nowhere. I smiled, rook on my shoulder looking at me oddly.

Everything was online nowadays. The restaurant wasn't that impressive from the outside, but apparently it was one of the best in the area. I stood up tall, trying to imitate the walk of people who would go to this sort of restaurant.

The person at the door waved me inside, stating that they had been expecting me. Tin Mother did good work. The tie was almost uncomfortable, but I'd manage. This was the kind of place that had a dress code. I couldn't walk in just wearing my cloak as I normally would.

The inside of the restaurant was odd, just a single long table that looked like it was almost part of the kitchen. As I took my seat on one of the wider edges, I could see the chefs busily working on the next meal. I sat down and placed my napkins properly.

The rook sitting on my shoulder was probably not acceptable by the standards of polite society, but oh well.

The door opened and standing in the doorway, looking rather confused, was Robert Hoskins. His suit looked expensive, and his hair seemed styled. He had certainly moved up in the world. He stared at me, and smiled broadly.

"Have a seat." I gestured to the chair sitting across from me. He walked over to it, and slid it out slowly. He still seemed confused, and was looking around the restaurant like a kid in a candy shop.

"How did you get a reservation here?"

I shrugged. "I know people."

He looked at me for a moment, then chuckled. "Of course. I have been watching the news, you now. You been doing a lot. Most of which no one even knows about, right?"

I nodded, grimacing. So he knew about that. I suppose the Nilbog incident wasn't going to go unnoticed, and he had been the subject of one of my more subtle attempts. It made sense.

"I've been trying to help."

He chuckled again, raising the wine to his lips. "I bet. Any of them dragged into an endless desert?" He shook his head, still smiling. Then he looked at me. "So why did you go through all this trouble? Something come up?" He looked worried. Almost afraid.

"Not really. After the Slaughterhouse, I decided I needed a break." Sophia shifted, clearly not liking my claiming of her idea. I ignored her. "So I thought we could grab something to eat, talk a bit. You know, like friends?" That shouldn't have come out as a question.

He looked at me for a moment.

"So... no vision quests?"

"No."

"No kingdoms you're going to charge me to save?"

"No.

"Just hanging out. As friends." His stare was beginning to make me uncomfortable.

I hid behind the menu. "Yes."

He looked at me, and covered his eyes with his hand. Had I done something wrong? It was then that I noticed he was laughing, his whole body shaking. It was rather loud, and I was beginning to wonder if we would get kicked out of the restaurant. I looked around. No one seemed to notice.

Huh.

Robert finished laughing, just in time for the waiter to show up and take our orders. We did, the pause giving him some time to calm down. He looked at me, still smirking.

"You have the weirdest ideas about friends, I swear. So, if it's not something earth-shattering, what do you want to talk about?"

I shrugged, disturbing Sophia, still on my shoulder. She was glaring a hole in the back of my head, I was sure of it.

"Well..." I paused, unsure of where to take the conversation from here. I thought of something I had seen in one of the advertisements in the newspaper. I leaned forward, curious.

"I've seen something interesting in the centerpiece of your latest exhibit. What was it called again..." I watched him squirm as I hummed. "Oh, right. Bring Me A Dream. It seemed... familiar. Care to explain?" I looked him in the eye, watching him flush.

He sighed. "It... it seemed appropriate. Before you showed up, I was just repeating things that had been done before, and not very well either. It was only after that time in the desert that I felt I could make something really original, really meaningful. And it was all because of you." His eyes, which had been unfocused and pointed at the ceiling, now oriented themselves toward me.

I blinked and leaned back.

He continued. "So when it came time to choose a piece to reflect the themes of the whole exhibit, well, the choice was obvious." He stretched and yawned, arms above his head.

"I certainly didn't expect a visit from the PRT though. Whatever it is you did, you've got them scared enough to track down an artist who made a sculpture that looked so much like you. I mean, their still better than all the people looking for endorsements and contracts. Bloodsuckers to a man, I'll tell you."

I frowned.

"Sorry about that, though, to be honest, I don't think it was that good a representation."

He looked at me, confused. "I thought it was pretty accurate. The cloak, the sword, the figure..."

I scowled at the last one. "Yeah, the outfit was fine. The sculpture just seemed... older, you know?"

He stared at me, and I flushed hotly. I could feel Sophia's smirk, from her position on my shoulder. "More..." My voice dropped to whisper, and I looked down, blushing furiously.

"...Developed." There. I said it.

He blinked, then looked me up and down. He frowned. "I don't see it."

I looked up, flush vanishing in favor of confusion.

"You're what... twenty-something right? A bit on the..." Now it was his turn to flush. "Slim side." A cough. "But not rail thin."

I looked at him. Looked down. Something wasn't right here. I called some of the sand, forming a full length mirror in the restaurant. I could feel two people looking at me funny. I was a bit busy staring.

I looked like I was twenty. Maybe older, it was hard to tell. What were my powers doing to me? I dismissed the mirror with a wave of my hand, sitting down heavily.

Robert was talking. "What's the problem?"

I chuckled a bit, the sound weak and reedy. "Well, if you've been following the news, you should know that I'm fifteen."

He blinked, obviously surprised. "I- I thought they were wrong."

I shook my head, focusing on the table in front of me. "No." A bitter smile. "It's my powers that are wrong."

The conversation stalled after that, and when the food arrived I could hardly taste it.

We finished, and the plates were taken away by the serving staff. We looked at one an other, neither of us having said anything for a while.

"So..." I spoke up, trying to salvage the conversation. "I guess I'll cover it? I did kind of spring this on you with little notice..."

He shook his head and pulled out a nice leather wallet. "No. Let me, it's the least I could do."

I raised my hand, forestalling his attempts at paying.

"Let's split it."

He nodded slowly.

This was awkward. Well done Taylor. Sophia shifted on my shoulder, impatient

We paid, and then it was time to leave. I decided I had to at least try and salvage something.

"Sorry about this."

He shook his head.

"Not your fault. Maybe next time we can make a better go at it?" My head snapped up, and I looked at him. He was smiling. Awkwardly, yes, but he was smiling. Had I missed something.

I noticed he was offering his hand, and I shook it.

"Sure. Maybe next time I'll give more forewarning." He chuckled at that, and the tension broke. Sure, I still had to figure out exactly what my powers were doing, but for now? It was all right.

He turned to go and my eyes widened. My hand shot forward quickly, and slapped the back of his neck. He yelped and spun around. My hands were behind my back.

"What-" I cut him off, speaking quickly.

"Mosquito. Big one"

He looked at me, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Mosquito."

"Yes." I nodded in affirmation.

"In mid March?"

I shrugged. "Who knows? Sorry about hitting you, by the way."

He nodded, looking distracted, and we both exited the restaurant at the same time. One last set of goodbyes and I watched him walk off into the distance.

That had been... nice. Even if it had been awkward as hell. I pulled my hand from behind my back, and opened it.

Inside was a silver mosquito, the length of a finger and metallic. We looked at it, both of us ill at ease. Sophia leaned forward, interested, before recoiling.

"That isn't good."

Sophia shook her head.

"Mphmph." Oh right, the rubber band. I dismissed it, smiling sheepishly. She gave me a glare, before refocusing on the thing I had in my hand. A dream-insect, obviously. Why was it here?

"Not good at all."

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> One a day, every day.
> 
> She didn't even notice displacing someone else's reservation. Socially oblivious Taylor is socially oblivious.
> 
> No romance. I'm saying that right now. No romance, this isn't a crude attempt at making Taylor above the age of consent in some magical way.
> 
> Stop it.
> 
> 4.2 tomorrow.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	27. Prince of Dreams 4.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nyoronyoden
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Prince of Dreams
> 
> 4.2

[]

I was getting rather frustrated. Nothing seemed off with any of the doors in the hallway, nothing broken or open. I had already checked the restaurant. Nothing. Nothing to tell me what was happening. Nothing to explain why the dreaming was spilling into the waking world.

One last place to check. I twisted the doorknob with rather more force than necessary and stepped into Robert's dream. The smell of wet clay and dust hit me, and I looked around to find myself in a studio, filled with a number of sculptures. Most of them were unfinished, though there were a couple that seemed complete. The statue of me, cloak billowing and sword drawn, was one of the finished pieces and stood in the exact centre of the room. I scowled.

The space was massive. Absolutely enormous. I couldn't see the walls, and I couldn't help but wonder if there were any, the ceiling held up by the pillars that dotted the room. Silver sands drifted across the floor, carried by a soft breeze.

"Sophia." My voice was flat. "Go see if you can find anything. We'll cover more space if we split up."

She nodded and leapt off my shoulder. I suspected she would have been grumbling if she hadn't known how serious this was.

The last time something like this had happened, Nilbog had gone beneath the waves. I looked around the huge room, noting how disorganized it was. I swatted a silver mosquito away from my face.

Pests. Maybe I'd do him a favor and get rid of them.

How was I supposed to find any clues in this mess? I poked one of the more complete statues, the dust dry and sticking to my finger. The statue wobbled back and forth on its base.

Nothing. This was getting boring. I stood up. Beyond the faint buzzing of insects, the same silver mosquito as the one I had seen before, and the flapping of Sophia's wings, the room was silent. I stayed in the centre of the room, examining each of the statues in turn. A queen being crowned, the person holding the crown unfinished. A woman eating a crow. A man, leaning over a vaguely humanoid shape, streams of... something traveling from the cowing figure's form. I looked at it a bit longer, feet kicking up dust. The statue seemed to move, the odd streamers shifting under the steady light of the room.

It was disturbing. I turned away, and found myself face to face with the sculpture I'd been avoiding. My own eyes stared at me, blue and sharp.

I blinked. That wasn't right. Looking closer, I noticed it wasn't the only thing that wasn't quite right. The skin was too pale, though that could have been because of what it was made of. She looked too old, but I supposed that wasn't as inaccurate as I might have wanted. The hair that looked more like ink, let to spread in a pool of water, tendrils in a million directions. It was the eyes that were the strangest though. They seemed unusually shadowed, glowing blue and were set in a face a bit too angular and... statuesque. I snorted.

I supposed I was being silly. There was such a thing as artistic license, and what he depicted didn't necessarily have to correspond directly to reality, let alone what he dreamed about. Still, the differences were disquieting.

The statue's face hardly seemed human, composed and wise beyond measure. It made sense in a way. He'd hardly seen me being human. He only knew me as the crazy woman who had dragged him off into a desert, then invited him without warning to a fancy restaurant.

Hardly normal behavior. I imagined the statue would change drastically if he saw me as I had been at school, or at home with my dad.

My eyes widened as I stood there, facing my reflection.

My dad. I'd completely forgotten. What must he feel like?

I shook my head, looking down. No, that wasn't quite true.

I hadn't forgotten. Just pushed him aside.

I looked back at the statue. She looked sure of herself, comfortable in her own power. Head straight and posture tall. Was this how I looked?

What an awful joke. Sophia came back, wings flapping slower.

"I- hah - Checked everything. Did you manage find anything useful over here Hebert, or should I give it a look?" Her tone was far too snide for someone who had a silver leg sticking out of their mouth.

Wait- No. I ignored the thought, even as the leg vanished into her beak fully. Now wasn't the time to speculate on possible psychological impacts of her transformation.

I shook my head. "I don't think we'll find anything else useful here." I looked at the statue, as assured and confident as before. "I don't suppose you have any answers for us, do you?" My tone was wry, and my smirk more so. I turned to go.

"I suppose it depends on the question."

I froze. On my shoulder Sophia went similarly stiff. We turned our heads slowly, the buzzing of insects the only sound in the room. Behind us, arms crossed and eyes appraising, was the statue of me.

"You- You talked?" I couldn't seem to come up with anything more eloquent.

"Why are you surprised? You do have a talking rook on your shoulder." She smirked and cocked her head at me, her body shifting into an odd position. Beside me, Sophia barked out a laugh.

I nodded slowly. It wasn't the oddest thing that I'd seen in dreams. Still, if they were here...

"Do you have any idea what might have happened to this dream? There are... problems, popping up." I was finding this increasingly awkward. It was like talking to a mirror. She smirked again.

Mostly like a mirror, then. I couldn't possibly be this insufferable.

"Yes. Yes there was." How helpful.

"And?" I pressed. I needed to know what was going on.

She shrugged, cloak whipping in a nonexistent breeze. "No idea."

I wanted to strangle her. On my shoulder Sophia was choking back a laugh.

She lifted a hand, finger pointing at the ceiling. "I can tell you something though." I perked up. A lead! "Look up."

I tilted my head back, trying to see what she was pointing at. Nothing seemed off...

"The cracks." All along the ceiling, almost fifteen feet above our heads, spread a spider's web of faint cracks. Something had pushed on them, hard. I had no idea what.

But it was a start.

I looked back at the statue. It was still again, as smooth and lifeless as before. That was oddly irritating.

"So, we gonna try and track down whoever did this? Make them pay?" Sophia spoke up, once again proposing a direct solution. This time, she had a point.

I shrugged. We really didn't have any other plans. Looking up at the spiderweb of cracks, I had an idea.

The cracks were like a fingerprint, in a sense. A sign that someone, something, had been there. A fingerprint...

Or a footprint. Something that could be tracked back to it's source. I placed my hands in front of me, one palm above the other, and pushed.

The ceiling was suddenly much closer, the dust shaken off of it by the sudden movement falling into my hair. It didn't bother me, though Sophia squawked in indignation. I reached up, my fingers slipping into the tiny cracks in the ceiling, and I pulled it apart. Above me was a tunnel, long and dark.

I pulled down some more of the debris and used the pieces of ceiling as handholds to get me up and into the passage. I began to crawl, the space tight and claustrophobic. It was dark, but not so dark that I couldn't see. Instead it was the sort of darkness that hid, made harmless shapes into monsters.

I kept crawling, the pace on all fours becoming more and more comfortable as time wore on, the path I was following weaving its way through a whole network of dark tunnels. My other senses compensated. I could hear some things I might have missed before, notice a few smells that could warn me of danger that I wouldn't have noticed before.

Eventually though, the darkness went away, and the world was lit up in a variety of blues and yellows. All around me, massive skyscrapers extended towards some distant point. I frowned.

This dream seemed familiar. I looked around, trying to pick up something, some sound, some smell that would place it for me. I passed through the crowds, noting the oddly bestial cast to their faces. As I followed the path further I noticed some more ominous things. Windows with massive cracks, some of them damaged enough to fall to the streets below, spilling glass shards everywhere. Buildings whose doors seemed almost blasted open, splinters of wood decorating the surroundings. There were fewer of the inhabitants in those areas. I frowned, and with an effort of will, forced the buildings to be whole again.

That wasn't right. Something was blocking my attempts at repairs. I scowled and shut my eyes, focusing more intently. Finally, the buildings righted themselves, and the more normal flow of traffic resumed.

What was going on?

The path continued and I followed it, more wary this time. Sophia was on my shoulder, acting as a lookout. This might be dangerous. Another rogue dream maybe? Another Corinthian?

I shuddered. That wouldn't end well for anyone involved. The path curved, heading into a dark alley and I went after it, hand tight around my sword.

I was back in the prison. The same one I had rescued Dinah from, so many months ago.

The one that shouldn't exist anymore. Dinah had no reason to be dreaming about it anymore.

I looked around. Everything seemed the same as it had been last time, even down to the torch missing from the wall. I walked towards the pit, careful for an ambush, my footsteps oddly muffled on the floor.

I couldn't be sure the snake was dead, not here. I leaned over the edge of the pit, trying to tell what was down there.

Ashes. Ashes, bone and metal.

It was almost disappointing. Still, the path continued into the cell, and I made my way down. The rough stone that made up the cell walls was as easy to climb as I remembered, and my fingers easily found the cracks they could fit in. My toes did not appreciate it, however, and I dropped the last few feet into the cell, legs partly bent to absorb the impact. Sophia was circling above me.

The impact never came, as I slipped right through the ashes at the bottom of the cage. The soft powder flowed around me, obscuring my senses. When I landed, I was somewhere else entirely.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Cliffhanger!
> 
> 4.3 tomorrow.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	28. Prince of Dreams 4.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presently At My Elbow
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Prince of Dreams
> 
> 4.3

[]

I landed in a crouch, sword on the ground in front of me. Ash kicked up around me as I stood up and took in the place where I had arrived.

The landscape was a dark grey, extending out until it met the pale sky. Holes dotted the landscape, revealing more of the sky below. As I watched, a piece of the land fell down into the sky, leaving my view.

"What-" had happened here? I took a step forward, the ground soft beneath my feet. I could smell fire on the air, but couldn't see any flames. The only light came from the pale dome over my head. No sun. No moon. Not even any stars. I stopped walking, reaching out with my senses, trying to find something I could identify.

Nothing. The entire space was empty. It didn't even feel like a dream, the threads that held it together too thin and haphazard to be real. I reached out and touched the edges of one of the smaller holes, feeling the wall quickly curve away from my fingers. I poked it, and it crumbled. This entire place looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Or a car commercial. I stood up, noting that Sophia hadn't followed me.

Something was very wrong here. I refocused my senses, and found the path again. That was something at least. The path curved around a number of large holes, forcing me to take a detour around them. I was getting frustrated. At least it seemed easy enough to follow-

Wait. Where was the path again? I looked around. It seemed to have vanished as it rounded the hole. I spread my senses again, and found it. It was a dozen or so yards away, and even fainter than before. I frowned. How had it gotten over there?

I traced the path even further back, and then it disappeared entirely. I stopped, eyes wide. I felt around me. It simply seemed to end. I bent forward and brushed the path with my fingers, trying to get some kind of information.

There. It was faint but noticeable. The path curved, pointing up into the sky before vanishing beyond the range of my senses.

Well. That was easy enough to fix. I put my hand on the ground, feeling the same resistance that I had in the city, and willed a staircase to form.

It wasn't moving. I grit my teeth and tried harder, grasping at the threads that made up this strange dream. It felt almost like the castle, but it fought me in a way I hadn't felt before. Sweat beaded on my brow as I glared at the offending patch of dirt.

With my head bowed like that, it really wasn't that strange that the blow that took me in the head got me by surprise. I tumbled to the ground, sword swinging behind me even as I turned.

There was nobody there. I was beginning to sense a theme to this place. I scowled.

The next blow took me in the lower back, and I stumbled forward again. This time I didn't even have the time to right myself before the hit after that slammed into my nose and knocked me down. This seemed awfully familiar.

The last hit passed through me like a bird through fog. I stayed still for a moment, having bought myself some time. I hadn't even seen whatever was hitting me, even when it had punched me in the nose!

It was humiliating. It was also rather familiar, I thought as I looked around, wiping the blood from my nose. Thankfully it didn't seem to be bleeding particularly heavily, stopping after only a few moments.

I took breath, closed my eyes, and opened my senses. I waited.

The punch after that passed through my stomach and this time I felt it, that flicker on the edge of my perception. I smirked. If this was Oni Lee's dream, or some copy cat, it didn't matter.

I might have had trouble shifting this place's landscape, but I could still control myself.

I could beat them. The next time I felt that faint flicker my sword came up, and what would have been yet another blow was instead a spray of blood. I opened my eyes.

And choked back a scream.

The thing standing in front of me certainly looked like Oni Lee... as seen through some demented caricature. The demon mask that was his trademark was now indistinguishable from the creature's face, leering and evil. The body, which on Oni Lee had simply been a wiry and slim body under a simple bodysuit, was now corded with exaggerated grey veins. But the eyes. The eyes. Yellow and slitted, those eyes weren't Oni Lee's eyes at all. Not human at all.

The thing flexed in claws and charged in, forgoing the teleportation. I raised my sword in front of me, trying to block the thing's claws, maybe pin it down and figure out what the hell was going on. The creature turned into ash, collapsing around my sword. I ducked, already dodging the blow I knew was coming from behind.

So when the claws raked across my cheek, I was understandably shocked. Had he teleported behind his clone? Or was something else going on? I lashed out with the sword, catching him on the upper arm and drawing blood. I followed up with a straight thrust for his chest, an ironic repeat of what had happened the first time we had fought. My sword hadn't done anything then, but now? In the dreaming? He tried to protect himself with his claws, but I was mist and fog, and flowed around it like it wasn't there. I rather enjoyed the reversal.

I turned solid and thrust. It was with satisfaction that my sword slid into his chest, blood already beginning to well round the hilt. The thing coughed, once, twice.

Then another claw grabbed my hair from behind and slammed my head into into the still impaled creature's fist. Dazed, I stumbled back, my form insubstantial again, avoiding the more vicious follow-up swipes. I pulled my hood up, not trusting my ability to take another blow to the head next time I struck. Carefully I watched the two demons as they circled around me, looking for an opening. The one behind me was still bleeding from what should have been a painful wound at the very least, if not fatal. But the thing kept circling, the injury repairing at a rapid pace.

Something had changed. The place where my sword had entered wasn't the same as it was before, the wound covered in the same grey flesh that gave corded his limbs. That wasn't natural. I looked more closely. The grey flesh that made up the cords and veins wasn't actually connected to the black bodysuit beneath it. There were seams, no smooth joints.

I swallowed. It was Oni Lee underneath it all. As well as something else. Even as the twin demons resumed their teleporting attacks and put me on the defensive again, I thought about what might have done this to him. Had I seen anything like this before?

I thought about it for a moment, and in that moment of distraction both Oni Lee's struck at me. The one at my back went for my kidneys, while the one in front went for my throat. The one behind me simply passed through, my body shifting in such a way that the Oni Lee ended up tumbling in front of me. The one in front I attacked, my sword coming up. Just like last time, Oni Lee began to dissolve into ash.

I swung through the cloud, and the mass of grey ash leapt back and reformed into Oni Lee once again. He stared at me, yellow eyes in an angry looking face.

That face. I remembered that face.

His shard. His dream. It had been a demon, with a face very similar to the red demon that leered at me right now.

It had taken him over. I didn't know that was possible!

The demons struck again, and I was flinched as I saw a claw aimed at my eyes. It passed through without injury, my body reforming without issue. They were getting faster. Smarter.

It didn't matter. I closed my eyes again, and this time reached for Oni Lee. His shard was coiled around him and through him, weaving through his flesh. I shuddered. Seen like this it was disturbing, some thing twisted and wrong.

I pushed down my revulsion and forced myself to wait. I could hear their footsteps, faint puffs of ash and the faint rustling of cloth.

One step. Two steps.

On three my eyes snapped open I grabbed the threads of his dream, holding him in place, wrapping the threads around him. Oni Lee, singular once again, stood in front of me, posture tense and ready to lunge. I looked him in the eyes. They were wild and feral.

Hardly human. I scowled.

"I don't suppose we could talk things over?"

Oni Lee simply struggled mutely, face contorted in rage.

"I guess not." I tightened my grip on his threads, the demon that possessed him and I pulled.

The demon came apart unusually fast, turning into silver sand as I watched. Soon it was gone entirely, a pile of sand on the ground that vanished into the wind.

I grimaced, disgusted.

Oni Lee was holed like swiss cheese, holes burrowed into him like a warren or a hive. He wasn't bleeding, but that just made it worse. I could see inside the various holes, and look at the various organs that had been seemingly chewed in order for the shard to spread.

Oni Lee was never going to wake up again. Then again the last time it had been him that had woken up, as opposed to his demon, may have been a long time ago.

What had caused that? None of the other shards that I had seen had caused anything even close to that sort of damage. What had been special about Oni Lee?

I reached for his corpse with my senses, threads probing, the body slowly dissolving into ash one last time. I had to see if this could threaten other people, if it was something I could stop. The mist that made up my body flowed around the shape on the ground, hiding it from view as I searched.

My body froze, my investigation stopping in its tracks. I couldn't move. I panicked, struggling against whatever had bound me.

The threads, the millions of pale threads that made up the crumbling plains, had jumped up and wrapped themselves around me.

What was happening?

The sky split open, the pale light becoming blinding. From the heavens descended a figure of light, beautiful and glorious and terrifying.

The Simurgh floated down from the crack in the sky, threads leading from around her to circle me, trapping me entirely. I couldn't do anything.

How had she gotten here?

What was she planning?

I didn't even have to ask if she had planned it up to this point. With the Simurgh, it was a given. And now, I was at her mercy.

No. I had been here before. I thought back to the locker, the same feeling of being trapped. I called on the same images, pulling on them to help me escape.

Alexandria, immovable, unstoppable- The Simurgh yanked on the threads that I had extended towards the corpse of Oni Lee, and the image slipped from my mind.

No. No, no, no, no no! What had she done?

I tried to remember other heroes, villains, icons of power and freedom.

The Simurgh kept pulling, careful to keep me wrapped in her threads. I changed tack, trying to think of a destination. I tried to imagine the mist. The desert.

The throne room.

I couldn't bring any of them to mind.

I could hardly breathe. She walked to me slowly, her footsteps light, supported by a dozen wings. The expression on her face, inhuman as it was, seemed to radiate satisfaction.

Vindictive, vengeful, satisfaction.

The normally inexpressive facade of the Simurgh, most insidious of the Endbringers, cracked. She smirked at me.

Then she gestured, arms and wings moving as one, and the threads that I had been using to investigate Oni Lee were pulled even further. She was pulling on my dreams. I had given her the opening. I had left open the opportunity.

 

I was losing myself.

I would have screamed, had I the voice to do so. The threads were pulled out of me, gold and blue and a million other colours. All of them mine, part of me, but the Simurgh pulled on them like a loose stitch. Once she had enough, she looked at me, and began to work.

She wrapped them around me, reinforcing them with her own, making a cocoon around me. I couldn't break it, or twist it.

It hurt too much to even try.

I began to fall.

The last thing I saw before I hit the ground was the Dream shattering into a million pieces.

The last thing I heard was the scream of the Simurgh, triumphant and piercing.

The last thing I thought, was a question.

Would I fly? It was a dream, after all...

The question was answered when I hit the ground.

I opened my eyes to see the early morning light streaming through my bedroom window, sheets tangled around my legs and hair a mess.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Help! I'm hanging onto a cliff by only my keyboard!
> 
> Wordcount for this chapter is 1984, because it's torture for you guys. 2 + 2 = 5
> 
> 4.4 tomorrow. I might delay it, just to mess with you though.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	29. Prince of Dreams 4.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eater of the Imperfect Lotus
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Prince of Dreams
> 
> 4.4

[]

This wasn't right. I winced at the light streaming in from the window, sitting up slowly. I didn't have my cloak, or my sword. I was completely nude. I stood up, looking around my room. It looked pretty much the same as I remembered it. Maybe a bit more lived in.

My feet padded across the bedroom floor. They felt cold. Something was wrong here.

I closed my eyes, and tried to reach out with my senses. Nothing. All around me, everything seemed... normal. Solid.

That scared me more than anything else. I went to my closet, trying to find clothes, now that my cloak had been lost. It was a strange feeling, pulling on clothes that didn't simply move with a thought. The threads that made them up dragged across my skin, tight and restrictive in a way that made me uncomfortable. As I pulled on a shirt I wasn't sure I'd ever owned I noticed that my skin was different, flushed and warm. I blinked.

Why would that be odd? I looked around. No answers there.

Still, I avoided looking at my arms after that, and went downstairs. The kitchen was empty, though I hadn't really expected anything else. On the table was a note.

I picked it up and read. I stared.

It was from my Dad, congratulating me for being accepted into the Wards and telling me that my costume had been delivered from the PRT offices, shrink wrapped on the chair.

I checked. It was.

The chair creaked under me as I sat down. The Wards. Accepted? What was going on?

I was blinking away stray tears. It was like a dream come true.

But it was the end of the note that hit me the hardest.

I'm so proud of you.

I swallowed heavily, my throat tight with some sort unidentifiable emotion. I shook my head, and picked up the package, tearing the plastic open with one smooth motion. The costume was a light on dark blue ensemble, bright enough to draw the eye as well as the bullet. It was capped off by a dark blue domino mask. I found I couldn't care about how impractical the whole outfit was. It was my cape costume. Proof that I was a hero.

I put the thing on and luxuriated in how it felt. The tunic and tights combination was nice, covering everything and offering decent protection if some of the panels I could feel were any indication, but it was the cape that demanded my attention. It spread out behind me as I spun, and I laughed.

A cape. I found I could hardly care about what had happened to land me here, the sequence already fading away. I was a hero!

Now, I stopped spinning and calmed myself down, what could I do? I closed my eyes and tried to feel something. I scowled, brow furrowing.

This was getting nowhere fast. I opened my eyes and shouted, my head level with the kitchen fan. I looked down, seeing my feet standing on something that wasn't the ground. I was flying.

I grinned so wide my cheeks hurt. I waved a hand. The curtains on the kitchen window whipped and twisted. Aerokinesis. My cape fluttering in a breeze that I was fairly sure wasn't natural, I stood in the air, relishing the feeling.

Even so, I couldn't help but feel something was subtly off, missing...

I nearly fell back down when the alarms began blaring. My smile disappeared as one word forced itself into my mind.

Endbringer.

My stomach fell as I realized I'd have to fight.

[]

I was standing on the flanks of where we knew Leviathan was going to break through. I had passed through the briefing in a daze, my mind locking down. Around me, a hundred capes or more, each in positions fitting their abilities. Healers, fighters, artillery, movers and evacuators...

Inhibitors. My power wasn't nearly strong enough to make me count as a direct threat to the Endbringer, but it was wide scale enough that I could limit the damage that it caused. Hah. What an awful joke. No one had any illusions that this was going to end in anything other than tragedy.

Then all the muttering, the nervous conversation stopped.

A shape was rising out of the water. Massive, a top-heavy grey beast towered over the nearby buildings, a watery after-image following it and ripping everything nearby to pieces. Leviathan. The beast of the sea, sinker of cities and ruiner of countries. The nearly featureless face didn't even seem to notice us, the asymmetric four eyes focused on something else entirely. It didn't even seem malicious, just there.

Killing us. All of us, slowly and painfully, simply by existing.

It wasn't for nothing that they were called the Endbringers.

Behind it rose the ocean, a massive tidal wave ready to crash over the assembled heroes and villains. I drifted through the air, dancing on the air currents. If all went well, I wouldn't even be close to the monster.

The water crashed over the city, even as Leviathan moved with speed utterly contrasting its bulk, the water-shadow destroying whatever it came too close to. The armband started talking, listing off every cape that was torn down. I ignored it, and lifted my hands, gritting my teeth with the effort of holding back the water on the street I had been assigned to.

It wasn't working, the water's sheer weight out-classing anything I could throw at it. Beside me, I saw most of the other capes suffering similar problems. Some, like Narwhal, leader of the Canadian Cape Organization the Guild, could hold a single street successfully.

But it was a drop in the bucket, compared to the sheer number of paths the water could take. My breaths were coming in pants, sweat beading on my forehead. I jumped from roof to roof, unwilling to sacrifice any focus that could be spent on fighting the wave. It wasn't working. The water kept rising.

I kept trying. I didn't even know what my cape name was, having been too distracted during the briefing. I wondered if anyone would remember, or if I'd just be a nameless spot on a memorial, an unmarked grave.

My legs were shaking with exertion. I had no idea how long it had been since the fight had started. I had no idea how much I had done, if anything.

I felt like giving up and my knees shook. My vision grew blurry. My stomach turned, and I threw up.

Was this it?

Was this all I would amount to?

Far away, light and noise flashed away from where the assembled capes tried to fight off the apocalypse. On a roof in a different part of town, I fell to my knees, my efforts at holding back the tide disappearing like the winds they were. My hands were limp by side, and my head was bowed, tears pricking at my eyes.

I had to do more than this. I had to be more than this.

I was alone on the roof, all the other inhibitors in areas that needed more urgent attention. I didn't care. My armband was listing casualties, more listed every moment.

If this was what being a hero meant, then I didn't want any part in it. Not if it left me too small to do anything.

Too small to help anyone.

I rubbed at my eyes, trying to clear away the tears, and something else rubbed off with it. I looked at my hands, confused.

Wrapped around my hands were a multitude of gold and blue threads. I looked at them blankly for a moment, my off hand coming up to brush my hair out of my eyes. More gold threads fell away, still clinging to my skin.

I moved frantically, pulling off the threads that wrapped around me. I knew what they were.

They were my dream.

Dream.

I stopped, the last of the threads still hanging off my hands, and saw what was around me. The apocalyptic vision had faded away, taking with it the beast of the sea, and I stood in a gold and blue cocoon, threaded with silver. The Simurgh's trap, a cage made from my own dreams.

I stepped forward, my feet rustling on the threads beneath me. The cocoon was hard and nearly impossible to unravel. I turned slowly, my cape flowing behind me. There weren't any exits either.

It would have to be broken. I pushed my hands into the threads and tried to pull it apart.

I screamed, falling to my knees. It hurt. I stared down. There were still a couple threads that wrapped around me, the golden strands standing out on the blue costume I was still wearing. One of them, thicker than the others, wrapped around my neck and ended in the center of my chest.

The threads were fragile, and I knew I could break them. But they were my dream. Mine.

The image of the Simurgh, cruel and terrifying, appeared in my mind. What would happen if I let the Endbringer continue?

The cocoon disappeared for a moment, once more the image of a sunken Brockton Bay. Then it vanished, and I was staring at the shining strands of my dream again. The thread glimmered and danced in front of my eyes, and I clenched my fist until my knuckles turned white. The wind whipped my hair and cape in the small space.

I wanted to be a hero. Wanted it more than anything else.

Wanted.

The wind died down.

But I wasn't a hero. Maybe I could have been, but by now that ship had sailed. I couldn't be a hero.

I closed my eyes and grabbed the thread attached to my chest.

I had to be more. Being a hero wasn't enough for me anymore. It was only a tiny part of me, much-loved as it was. I was so much more.

I broke the thread with a sudden yank, and gasped. The cocoon dissolved, the tension that had held it together vanishing, and it cascaded around me in a waterfall of gold.

My senses exploded, racing outward faster than thought. I picked up the golden threads, coiling them around one finger, even as my attention leapt from dream to dream. I coiled the strands tight, squeezing them together.

A tiny golden gem sat in the palm of my hand. I looked at it. It glimmered softly, warm and familiar. I smiled wistfully and slid the jewel into my sleeve.

I looked around, finally taking in my surroundings.

I was standing on a roof in Brockton Bay. It seemed familiar. I didn't care.

There was so much! So many dreams, so many little worlds, outside of the shell!

I smiled broadly, arms spread wide and back bent backwards, facing the sky. My costume shifted, the blue darkening and shifting to black, speckled with pricks of light like stars. At my hip formed a sword with a blade like blue crystal. My skin paled, becoming like marble, and I stood taller, older, stronger.

I laughed, exulting in the freedom.

Once there had been a girl who dreamed of being a hero.

She knew better now. Why have only one dream?

Below me, the streets of Brockton Bay were in chaos, things out of nightmare and fantasy running amok.

Above me the Simurgh let out a single piercing scream, and vanished. I imagined the scream was one of fear, as I felt her path carving itself into the Dreaming.

I would deal with her. She had bound me, taken my dreams. She would pay.

But first, I thought, turning to look at the streets below, I would have to deal with this. I frowned. Delays.

Then I had an idea. If I didn't want to spend time dealing with this... why not someone else?

I reached into my sleeve and pulled out a tiny skull, eye sockets full of teeth.

That would do nicely.

I pulled some sand from the dreaming and got to work. I had a lot to do.

That was why, when Sophia found me a couple minutes later, I had mostly finished making a sandman.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Ziz has made a miscalculation.
> 
> I really hope this doesn't count as a cliff hanger.
> 
> 4.5 tomorrow.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	30. Prince of Dreams 4.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ode to Joy
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Prince of Dreams
> 
> 4.5

[]

I was standing on a building in the Docks, a door open and spilling sand across the roof.

Said sand flowed under my hands, shaping itself into bones, muscles, and skin. A macabre anatomical doll stood in front of me. Sitting in the hollow of the figure's face was a tiny skull, eyesockets lined with teeth.

I was crafting a nightmare. Sophia approached me from behind, breathing heavily.

"What- What the hell happened?"

I frowned. "The Simurgh."

Sophie blanched, landing on my shoulder. "Really? Shit." She looked around, taking in the streets of Brockton Bay. "I guess that explains what happened after you disappeared though."

I paused in my work and turned to face her. She flinched.

"What. Happened?"

She stared at me mutely, nodding slowly, before finding her voice. "...Everything broke. Just shattered. That weird place you left me in?"

I nodded.

"Gone. I ended up..." She looked around before pointing with an outstretched wing somewhere south of where we were. "Somewhere over there. Along with all of them."

Oh. Right. The nightmares in the streets. Most of them seemed... if not harmless, then at least not actively hostile. They still couldn't be there. But the Simurgh demanded my attention, the tear she made in the dreaming repairable.

For now. I couldn't delay much longer. I bit my lip, wondering what I was missing in my new Corinthian. The core, that tiny skull, was there, as well as the body. They just weren't melding the way I thought they should.

"What the hell's that supposed to by, anyway?" Sophia seemed rather unnerved by the sculpture in front of us.

I shrugged, fingers drumming on my upper arms. "It's supposed to be a nightmare. The nightmare, maybe. How did it go..." I thought back to my brief conversation with the old Corinthian, before everything had gone wrong.

I stood up a little taller, my smile becoming a little crueler. "...Man's Inner Demon, his Dark Reflection. The voice in the back of your head, that tells you to hurt and kill and like it. The monster in everyone, just waiting to raise its head." I paused and blinked. "That's it."

Sophia looked at me confusedly. "What's it?"

I ignored her, and reached inside. I saw the golden threads, still as bright as before, along with others just as brilliant. But my goal wasn't in the light.

It was the dark. I dove further, going into the shadows of the shining strands. Before long I found what I was looking for, a tight coil of black thread, twisted up in hate and rage. I grabbed one of the ends and pulled. Images of Winslow, charred and cratered flashed through my head as I forced the strand to unravel. Emma, a cut splitting her open from hip to shoulder, lying beside a glassy eyed Madison. I kept pulling, the pictures switching to possibilities more recent.

A world tormented by nightmares, sleep a torture. It would be justice of a sort, wouldn't it? And would I enjoy-

The knot unraveled, the thread now singular and untangled. The images vanished and I let my attention return to the outside world. Sophia was looking at me oddly. I reached forward, slipping the black thread through the eye sockets of the skull and leading it down into the figure's chest, leaving the end coiled around the heart. There. Done.

I picked up some more sand from the open door, admiring the shapes it made as it tumbled from my fingers, and put it in the creature's face. With a few simple motions I hollowed out sockets for the eyes and a simple line for the mouth. A lump served as the nose.

I leaned close, my hands on the figure's cheeks, thumbs on his eyes. The sand was rough under my touch, and crumbled slightly. Sophia looked rather uncomfortable, shifting on my shoulder.

Then I slid my thumbs upwards and opened the nightmare's eyes, stepping back to admire my creation. The Corinthian looked around, trying to understand where he was.

"Who am I?" That... I hadn't been expecting that. I looked him over, noting the differences between him and his predecessor. A greater abundance of black in his outfit contrasted with the former's all white attire. The white suit, just as immaculate as before, was now offset with a black shirt, so dark it seemed to drink in the light, and black shoes.

As he idly flipped a black-handled switchblade, I realized he was probably expecting an answer.

"You are the Corinthian." Best keep things simple. "The dark mirror of everyone who dreams. But right now..." I gestured broadly, encompassing the streets below. A large beast, spindly legged and insect-like, skittered down the alley by the building.

"...you have another job. Take down all the nightmares, Sophia will help you contain them after you do." The rook on my shoulder jerked at that. I probably should have informed her.

The Corinthian nodded slowly, a smirk spreading across his face. "Mayhem and madness? All right then." The smirk swelled to full on grin, sharp edged and dangerous, as he pulled out a pair of pitch black sunglasses from his coat. The eyes gave one last death's head grin, before vanishing behind reflective glass.

He twirled the knife he held in his hand. "Let's get to work." A smirk and the sunglasses flowed over his body, encasing it in black armor, reflective and sharp. Dangerous. A noble figure, twisted into mockery of all it stood for. The knife was now a sword, white-bladed and deadly.

His voice growled, a discordant tritone even as he laughed.

The black knight jumped off the roof, and began the attack.

I looked at Sophia, eyebrow raised. "Well?"

She looked at me, disturbed. This was getting to be annoying. "What?"

I gestured down at the streets, where the Corinthian had already taken down the spindly insect and moved on. "Aren't you going to follow?"

Now she was glaring, wings half-spread. "And do what, exactly?"

"Well, contain the dreams he defeats-" She was still glaring, and I realized I hadn't told her how. Oops. I looked around, before my gaze settled on my cloak. I tore off a tiny piece of the corner. It seemed elastic enough, I thought as I stretched it in my hands. I went over to the door, the sand still spilling out, piling above my bare ankles. I closed the door, and opened it to reveal the normal staircase that led to the roof we were on.

With a grunt of effort I stretched the cloth to cover the door frame. I pushed on the cloth with my shoulder, my other limbs preoccupied with keeping the cloth in place. Once it was stretched out enough, I closed the door again, only the corners of the cloth visible along the frame. This time, when I opened it, the desert stretched out ahead of us again.

Sophia was staring at the door that I had opened for the third time in as many minutes.

"What was the point of that." It wasn't a question, her voice flat.

I chuckled, feeling far too giddy given the circumstances. "Patience."

The corners of the cloth were still visible, and I pulled them together. Behind the cloth was the staircase. The desert had vanished, and in my hand I held a small cloth sack. I handed it to her, forcing her to grab it in her mouth.

Maybe I hadn't thought this through very well. From the look she was giving me, it seemed she agreed.

I shrugged. "That should have all the space you need. Ask the Corinthian for help if you need it, but you probably want to hurry. He's almost done with the block as is." She glared at me again, and flew off. At least the sack was light. Now...

I turned, looking south over the main body of the city, stretched out like a cat along the bay. I couldn't have people awake for all this. It was bad enough already. Still, it wasn't like I hadn't put people to sleep. This was just a matter of scale. I turned back to the roof, and watched the wind blow the sand still piled there into dunes.

I frowned.

I really needed a better way to access it. Still, that was a problem for another time. I walked over to the miniature dunes, the concrete rough under my feet, and picked up a handful, destroying one of the dunes in the process. I closed my eyes and let myself expand.

I could feel all the dreams in the streets. The Corinthian and Sophia had already made some progress, it seemed, the block surrounding me nearly clear. That just made things easier. I felt myself grow larger, until the entirety of Brockton Bay stood in my shadow. I opened my eyes.

It was so small. The tiny lights of people still up at this late hour dotted the city like stars in the night sky. As it was, you could hardly tell where my cloak ended and the streets of Brockton Bay began.

There were dreams running amok though, and that meant the city had to sleep. I sucked in a breath that would be measured in airships and blew my handful of sand, not nearly as small as before, across the city.

The lights went out, and the city slept, dreamless. I let myself shrink, satisfied. In the dreaming, the Simurgh had stopped moving, settling in an area I was fairly sure was the castle. The damage was getting worse.

I closed my eyes, and stood in the desert once again.

Right in the middle of a sandstorm, the winds whipping around my, trying to knock me off balance. I dismissed it, unraveling the threads that held it together. I could feel the Simurgh act faster, escalating whatever it was that she was doing to the castle. It wasn't anywhere near as subtle as what she had done with Oni Lee. Was she panicking?

Could she panic?

On the horizon, the tallest towers of my castle shook.

I reached into my cloak and grabbed a tiny golden jewel, focusing on an old dream.

I called the wind. The sands parted before me even as I flew above the dunes, cloak trailing behind me like the tail of a comet. I laughed. This felt great. The castle loomed ahead of me, major portions ruined and destroyed. Masonry was cast about the courtyard, echoing both the castle as it had been, and another scene of devastation.

Canberra.

I scowled. I had spent a lot of time putting it back into order.

My sword found its way into my hand, and the winds died around me, letting me land softly in the sand.

I stepped in front of the gates of horn, and they opened. I looked up, taking in the damaged silhouette of my castle.

Above the highest tower floated the Simurgh, her song echoing across the dreaming.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> I am so sorry. School has apparently decided that the coming week is when everything must be handed in. The fact that Friday is screwy anyway doesn't help.
> 
> I am far too tired for a weekend.
> 
> 4.6 tomorrow.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	31. Prince of Dreams 4.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rapture...
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Prince of Dreams
> 
> 4.6

[]

If anything, Sophia had understated the damage. The vast staircase that led up to the castle proper was cracked and shattered, dust coating the steps. All the windows were similarly broken, holes punched through the colorful glass. At least a few towers had been broken, their jagged crowns silhouetted against the perpetually twilight sky.

And above it all, soared the Simurgh. Silent. Watching.

I could feel her pale threads stretch out across the landscape, tying every part of the landscape to her. It was irritating, like shoes that didn't quite fit. I scowled as I forced the massive doors to open, the silvery strands trying to hold them closed. They snapped, and the throne room stretched out in front of me, as vast and shining as ever, despite the damage it had suffered.

Worryingly, the doors that flanked the throne were shattered, frames broken and twisted. The space behind them was empty, just marble walls as far as the eye could see. I suppose that answered the question of where, exactly, the Simurgh had gotten the dreams that had flooded Brockton Bay from.

I stepped forward, still casting my senses about, trying to see if there was anything that I needed to do before I could deal with the Endbringer. My perception expanded, the walls and floors of the castle, labyrinthine in scale and construction, falling away to reveal what lay underneath. The helm, still in the white room, thrummed with intent and power. A promise of vengeance towards the shining beacon of the Simurgh that floated overhead.

I ignored it. I could get revenge for this well enough on my own. Then I noticed the blood. There wasn't much of it, just a small puddle at the bottom of the library stairs, but it still told a story.

The white feather that floated in it, nearly crystalline in appearance, simply made it worse.

I ran. The steps, numerous as they were, flew by under my feet, my hand dragging along the marble wall as I leaned on it for support. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What would the Simurgh, of all things, want the most out of everything in the castle?

Knowledge. Maybe she didn't have it herself, maybe she just wanted to stop anyone else from having it. It didn't matter.

I reached the top of the stairs, my long legs taking them two at a time. I looked around, casting my senses to try and see if there was some sort of danger still in the room. I blinked, my heart pounding as I rounded the last turn and opened the door with a slam. The twinned bookshelves extended to infinity, glass and marble on one side, dark wood on the other. In the middle of the room, a pair of identical ledgers sat on identical marble pedestals.

Everything seemed fine. With the exception of the mess of feathers and blood I could see on the floor, the library looked nearly untouched. However, one gap grabbed my attention. On the nearest wooden shelf, where the life-stories were kept, an entire row tilted to the right, missing a member.

My eyes widened as I rushed to the ledger. What book had she taken? Someone's life story? Some almanac of hidden knowledge? I had no idea what most of the books here even were. I flipped through the ledger, the parchment thick and soft under my fingers, revealing the first page.

Scratched out, the ink still slightly wet, was On The Manifestation of Dreams by Reverend Sigmund Freud. What. Of all books she had to choose the one I was reading? It wasn't even all that useful, just tortured metaphor and stupidly jumping plot!

I closed the ledger with a thud, drawing in a deep breath. If this was some sort of clever plot on the Simurgh's part, I really couldn't see the end goal.

Given who I was dealing with that was unsurprising. I bet if the Simurgh had to stab someone she'd use a corkscrew instead of a stiletto.

The floor trembled faintly underneath my feet. I looked around. In the distant shelves was a large dark shape. The thing seemed hunched over and monstrous, and I could see the steam coming from where I thought its mouth would be was even as far away as I was.

Whatever it was, it was big. Some sort of nightmare, released by the Simurgh? I reached for my sword, knowing it was probably my least effective tool against something of that size. If worst came to worst I could always rip it apart like I had that demon of Oni Lee.

The shape was getting closer, and now I could see it a bit more clearly. The gigantic monster was covered in spikes and scales, long legs carefully placed between the shelves. It was-

"Oh, hello." The voice rumbled like thunder in the massive space, so deep I could feel it in my chest.

I knew that voice. "Tin Mother?" I relaxed and let my hand fall away from my sword. The formerly human-sized dragon was now larger. Quite a bit larger.

She leaned forward, steamy breath making my face damp. "Are you all right?"

I patted down the hair she had blown about. "I'm fine. But-" I waved my hand, gesturing towards the massive claws that now adorned the Tin Mother's feet. They were red with blood.

Tin Mother looked down at herself and frowned. "Ah, yes. I will have to clean myself up afterwards. They were very impolite." Her luminous green eyes narrowed, and her voice deepened, gaining a rough undertone that brought to mind tales of dragons in their caves, protecting their hoards. "Of course, the primary perpetrator managed to elude me, and took one of my books." She turned to me, pupilless eyes focusing on me even as she shrunk back down to a more reasonable size. "I would like it returned."

I nodded slowly. "I'll see what I can do."

At that the Tin Mother nodded, pleased, before walking off, blood still dripping off her claws. She had her duty to fulfill.

So did I. I reached out with my senses, trying to find where the Simurgh was. The library, a maze of threads interconnected and thick, spread out into infinity around me. It seemed smaller than it should be, though.

Some part of me insisted that was a contradiction. I ignored it. Because right outside the balcony floated the glowing form of the Simurgh, silver threads spreading out from it like rays of light, tying into every part of the dreaming. I approached the shining figure slowly. I had the upper hand here, but I couldn't be sure she didn't have something else up her metaphorical sleeves.

I pushed the door to the balcony open, and saw my enemy. The Simurgh was floating in front of me, asymmetric white wings surrounding her. The atmosphere changed, now that I actually stood in front of the Endbringer. Because that was what she was. A monster, a nightmare to keep anyone who wanted to make a better world up at night. Her schemes toppled visionaries, and her song destroyed cities. She was control and violation, and simply being near her made you her pawn. The very air around her seemed to glow white with cruel authority.

But why then, with all that power, was her expression so sad? The Simurgh floated before me, looking despondent. Empty. She stared at me, her eyes assessing me. She seemed to slump.

Then she glared at me and a book whipped at my head, passing through me without injury. As I turned it bounced off the floor behind me and I noticed the title. It was On The Manifestation of Dreams.

That distraction was all she needed to hit me with a wave of force and take off, feathers floating in her wake. The silvery strands that made up the attack wrapped around me, and I stepped through them, looking up at the angelic figure. I could fly after her. My fingers wrapped around the golden gem in my sleeve. I knew I could.

I decided to do something a little more dramatic. I reached deep, feeling the castle around me. It was meant to be a bulwark, upon which enemies would break themselves. I found the heart of the castle, where all the threads met, and made a small change. This defense wouldn't be passive, no.

I felt the stone, a weight on my shoulders, pushing me down. I could bear it. I stood tall, and the castle stood with me.

The castle was now a guardian. And I had given it a target. Around me the castle shook as aeons old stone began to move. The towers around me began to rise, even as dust and sand fell away from the giant I had woken. Arms of masonry, with fingers made out of watchtowers, rose towards the sky. Feet made out of basements stepped heavily onto the earth below as the titan reached towards the sky, trying to swat down the Simurgh.

I could feel the Endbringer grow less desperate as the castle swung its massive arms through the air. The Simurgh was too high for me to reach, the size of the castle not enough to reach up into the sky, grounded as it was. I closed my eyes. I could feel the dream around me. It felt familiar, right, even if the Simurgh's touch irritated me on a level I couldn't really explain.

She thought she had beaten me. Gone higher than I ever could.

I touched the sky. It stretched across the dreaming, a dark and dusky roof, speckled with stars. It was the upper limit. Of this, of everything.

I pulled it down, and the Simurgh came down with it. The sky was so close now, and the castle's massive hand was around the Simurgh before she even realized what had happened. I enjoyed the irony as I climbed over the rough stone that made up the giants arms. In its grip, the Simurgh, outplayed for once. No longer the untouchable planner.

I grimaced. I hoped that was the case at least. It would be embarrassing if all this had been part of her plan. The fifteen foot tall woman wasn't struggling. I wasn't sure if that was good or not. She was glaring at me, her myriad wings pinned beneath the fingers of my castle. I could feel her, the pulsing silver light that filled her. The thin threads that emanated from her strained, as if being pulled by something.

What was she? I reached out with my senses, brushing aside the weak defense the Simurgh attempted. In this situation, pinned and under my power, she wouldn't be able to do anything dramatic.

I felt the threads that made her, traced them back to their source. My eyes widened and I froze, the realization sudden and heavy. There was only one thing I had this much power over, that felt like this.

She was a dream. Somehow escaped and stronger than even the Corinthian had been, but a dream nonetheless. I dove deeper into her self, feeling feathers and light surround me, the very core of the beast vulnerable. I could destroy it. I knew I could. I could do what I did to the Corinthian, and unmake her. I reached for the core, but then I hesitated. I pulled my hand back, and stood still.

The Simurgh, who had seemed resigned just a moment ago, now seemed tentatively hopeful.

I wanted to punish her. For what she had done to me, for making me choose between my dreams. In my sleeve, the golden gem flashed faintly, outshone by the countless stars in my cloak. It had been painful, making that choice, no matter how freeing it had been. I glared at the core of the Simurgh.

I wanted to make her pay in kind. I spoke my decision to her.

"You'll live." My voice was sure, the statement one of fact.

And I began.

I left the core alone, instead reaching for the threads than surrounded it, the silvery strands smooth under my hands. The threads danced to my will, and the Simurgh struggled, finally trying to break her bonds. I could feel the Endbringer's fear, even as the threads whipped back and forth.

It didn't matter. I was Dream, and it was done. The Simurgh stood, in a cage made of her self. The thin threads that I had noticed being attached to her now whipped through the air, unanchored. I looked at the Endbringer thoughtfully. It would be inconvenient to just leave it like this. Smaller would be better. I focused, and soon, instead of a massive cocoon of silver, I held a simple silver cage.

In it sat a white bird, eyes focused on the bottom of the cage.

Around us, the silver threads flailed wildly. I frowned. Apparently they weren't really part of the Simurgh. But they were pulling on the dreams, anchored too strongly to simply set adrift. I would have to tie them down to something.

I called them to me, and grabbed them in my hand. Now, where to put-

i scream - the moon was cold. distant. but not unreachable. if only- daddy's here, everything will be all right. just drink- the straps were cold and hard, but the light above was white and glinted of the steel of a knife 'don't worr- who knew what might be taken next? - the man was so lovely, surrounded by his puppets, so inviting and entic - dead. everyone dead. failed. fucking capes, who could stop - do what they can, while the weak - the walls were goin' up, but we were on the inside. what could we do - win - what did you know asked the nice man holding the glittering blade - in every computer. in every camera. a big brother for the - LIGHT. DIVINE LIGHT. DIVINE COMMAND. - a swirl of silver light and feathers -

-you know what must be done.-

\- Who said your choices mattered?

I was screaming when the images left me. I looked around. Everything seemed fine. Even me, despite my screaming fit. Only one thing had changed

The silver threads that had crisscrossed the whole of the dreaming were now anchored.

To me.

What had happened?

The castle returned to normal, the threat having vanished, even as the silver threads faded into the background. I stood there, standing in the throne room as the wall reformed around me, still holding the Simurgh's cage.

The door behind the throne slammed open, and the Corinthian sauntered in. Behind him flapped Sophia, wing beats slow and tired. She collapsed to the ground, the bag in her beak empty. I looked at her, my mind still whirling with what had happened. Had that been some sort of trap? It hardly seemed like it. Maybe I could ask the Tin Mother later.

First... "Where did you put the dreams?"

Sophia looked at me, too tired to even glare. Behind her the Corinthian smirked, armor gone, like there was some sort of funny joke. "I dumped them in the desert. Bag was getting heavy." Her head fell back to the ground with a thunk, breathing coming in gasps.

Behind me, the doors to the hall swung open.

I turned slowly, my posture and expression wooden. The doors were wide open. Outside, as far as I could see, was a crowd of dreams. All of them staring at me. I looked at the varied crowd, noting the sheer variety of limbs and colors. Further away, the crowd seemed more active, building sandcastles and getting into fights in the desert. I twitched.

"Oh. Great."

It never ends, does it?

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> ... and Revelations!
> 
> All right. Now there's just the final chapter and the interlude to go for Act 4. Aka. Consequences.
> 
> Pacing issues should be worked out for Acts 5-7. I'm still learning.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	32. Prince of Dreams 4.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thine Is The Kingdom
> 
> Morphosis, A Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Prince of Dreams
> 
> 4.7

[]

I stared at the crowd, and the crowd stared back. Even the ones that didn't have eyes. In the doorway stood a menagerie of fantastical creatures, legendary heroes and terrifying nightmares. Each and every one of them was focused on me. Somewhere in the crowd, someone coughed. The odd tableau continued, no one daring to move.

Then the Corinthian yawned, all three of his mouths opening fully. He slipped his sunglasses back on his face.

"Well, if that's all you wanted done..." He trailed off, looking at me. I nodded slowly, still looking at the mob that had gathered at my doors.

There were so many. An endless sea of dreams.

He smirked and, hands in his pockets, walked slowly across the hall. When he reached the door the crowd parted before him. They seemed frightened of him, which I supposed made sense. As he passed the threshold, the Corinthian looked over his shoulder and at me.

"Have fun." With that, he left the throne room and vanished into the crowd with a cheery wave and a smirk on his face.

The tension broke and the mob flooded into the throne room, a thousand mouths asking a million questions. I could feel their approach, and I knew that I couldn't deal with all their questions and demands. Not right now. I stepped forward, eyes narrowed. The tidal wave of dreams swept all the way up to the dais and stopped, the dreams behind pushed back by those in front.

I had drawn my sword, and held it in front of me, the blue blade steady. In my other hand I held the silver cage of the Simurgh. I had no patience for this right now.

"Get out." My voice was hard and brooked no argument. The assembled dreams looked among themselves, before looking back at me. None of them moved.

I scowled and lifted my sword higher. The crowd moved back as one.

"I said, leave!" I punctuated the command with a swing of my sword. The crowd flinched and turned, leaving as a mass. My hall was empty again, and I lowered the sword. I turned around, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. Sophia seemed to still be exhausted, lying on the floor next to the throne.

She looked at me balefully. "Nothing's ever simple for you, is it Hebert? Oh sure, just fly around the city in a single night, bagging things like a reverse Santa Claus, while a freak with mouths for eyes shows exactly how many ways it can make something scream." I frowned. That wasn't a good impression of me at all. My voice wasn't nearly that high, for one. "Great fun, ten out of ten, would try again."

"In my defense, I did have to deal with the Simurgh." I hefted the cage a little. The white song bird inside continued to stare at the floor of its cage. Sophia flinched.

"You're weird. You know that right?"

I nodded absently, still looking at the cage. It was strange, holding the Endbringer like this. Surreal. One of the largest threats to humanity, reduced to a bird in a cage.

Like something out of a dream. The silver threads around me thrummed, once, as I put the cage down next to the throne. My hand was chalk pale as it released the silver handle. It seemed a bit larger, the fingers longer and more slender than I thought they were.

When had that first happened? When I had taken Robert into the desert? When I had met him in the restaurant? Somewhere in-between?

"Sophia." She looked at me, once, before getting off of the floor and hopping up to my shoulder.

"Yeah?" She seemed almost nervous.

"Have I changed?" All around me I could feel the dream, a million stars to my open senses. Next to the throne sat a dim silver light and a golden gem was hidden up my sleeve. A shadow on my shoulder.

It was beautiful.

Sophia shifted on my shoulder, feathers brushing my hair. I could feel her look at me, expression flat. "You're standing in a castle, the Simurgh in a cage, surrounded by the dreams of a city you put to sleep. And you're asking me if you've changed?" I think it was the last point that bothered her more than anything.

Though, put like that the question seemed rather silly. I chuckled.

"Moron." She turned her head and looked out the window. "Hey..."

Something tickled on the edge of my senses. "Hm?"

The stain-glass window cast colorful images across the marble floor. But Sophia's attention was focused outside, on the milling crowds of dreams I had expelled from the castle. It looked like they were making sand castles, each dream making something different from its neighbour. It was rather funny actually, as few of them seemed to be cooperating, stealing sand from their neighbours to supplement their own projects. I watched as a dragon, scales red and breathing flame, assaulted the stronghold of a puppet, only for another puppet to sneak around the back and start stealing its sand hoard. Before I knew it, I was laughing, watching the dreams enact little plays that only I could see, in the perpetual twilight of the desert.

Sophia wasn't laughing. She was looking at the dreams closely, looking almost confused. "Is this... normal?"

I shrugged, the last of my laughter finally escaping. "Why not? They're dreams after all."

Then Sophia shook her head, and I noticed something else. The castles they were making weren't staying sand. The towers the puppets had erected had turned to cloth, the dragon's hoard now shone with gold and jewels. It wasn't just them, either. Every dream seemed to be making something out of the silvery sands, staking their claim on the shifting dunes. A million different fiefdoms.

My desert was getting cluttered. The battles that had seemed so harmless before became deadly serious.

I was walking to the door before the realization fully set it, my footsteps loud and fast on the cold marble floor.

"So, whats the plan?"

I froze with my hands on the doors, ready to push them open. Plan. I didn't have a plan. I looked out the window. There were a lot of dreams out there. Too many, maybe. "I don't have one."

Sophia made a noise somewhere between a croak and growl. "And you were going to deal with this... how?"

I let my hands fall from the door. I shrugged. "I suppose I'd ask them to stop?" That wasn't supposed to be a question.

She looked at me levelly. "And why would they listen?"

I blinked. "It is my desert. They should respect that."

"Ha! Respect?" Sophia hopped off my shoulder, flying off to land on a nearby window pane. "You think going out there and asking them will earn you their respect?" When I didn't reply she scoffed, lifting her beak up in the air. She seemed rather pleased with herself. "Not like that it won't. It's about the image." She looked at me. The last word was stressed oddly, the intonation as nasal as a rook could make it.

She sighed when she noticed me staring at her blankly.

"I was Ward. You know that." I nodded slowly. I still wasn't very happy about that, but it hardly mattered now. "What you don't know is exactly how much work the PRT puts into making us look good to the crowds. They've got an entire department that makes a lot of the rules we have to follow. No lethal takedowns, no overly 'scary' power usage, no this no that no anything. It's - was - frustrating, and I hated it, but there was a point." She puffed up her chest and half-spread her wings, framing herself against the light streaming in from the window.

"We had to be heroes." I blinked. "We had to make everyone see us as the perfect paragons of justice. The most extreme example would be the Triumvirate: Incorruptible, invincible and - most importantly - inspiring. The heroes everyone wants to be." It sounded like she was quoting someone, the intonation just that little bit off from normal. Sophia let her wings fall to her sides, eyes unfocused. "Because if we look like that, then it's easier to be like that."

I thought about it, turning the sentence around in my mind. "So what you're saying is... I have to make myself seem like the kind of person who gets respect, and I'll get it?" It was an interesting thought.

Sophia nodded. "Power, authority, and the willingness to use it. Fear, maybe, but those more than anything. You want them to obey you, right? Stop doing whatever they want to your turf?" I nodded. "Then you've got to make them think that that's the only way things can be. Stake your claim and refuse to back down."

I looked at her askance. "You've put a lot of thought into this."

"I had reasons." Her voice was bitter and she looked away, wings half-opened, ready to fly. Reasons. I decided not to push further, and focused on the little play I'd be putting on.

I closed my eyes.

Authority. I didn't have very many examples to work from. Most of the ones at school had been ineffectual at best, incompetent at worst. I couldn't use them as a guide. I tried to think of other people I knew with authority.

No others came to mind. I shook my head, quickly and violently. Refocus. I thought back to a different assumed role, that strange class before everything had gone wrong. I had played Hamlet, a little barb that the teacher had done unintentionally. I remembered how the classroom had changed, how everyone had seemed moved by the scene I had conjured. But Hamlet wasn't a good choice either.

That was fine. There were other stories, and I'd always liked reading. A thousand different kings, queens and princes came to mind, familiar from lonely days in the library. I had lost myself in those stories.

Now I had to lose myself in a different way. I had plenty of examples to choose from.

I stood tall, my posture immaculate. The cloak around me seemed to shift, gaining details and embroidery that hadn't been there before, stars patterning the black cloth. I ran my hand through my hair, letting the long black strands frame my head like a halo. I looked out the window and observed my subjects, one hand resting casually on the hilt of my sword.

This wouldn't be enough. I needed something more, something to elevate it to legends. That was what we were dealing with, after all. I needed something that made my authority perfectly clear, my claim unimpeachable. The desert was mine.

Now I had to make them believe it. I had to make myself believe it.

"Sophia." She looked at me, snapping out of whatever state she had been in. "The bag." She blinked at me, confused, before realizing what I meant. She flapped off, and returned with the sack I had given her. It was more a pouch, really, light enough for a rook to carry. I hefted it in my hand, feeling the empty cloth between my fingers.

I was ready. The massive doors swung open, and I stepped out into the twilight of the desert. Behind me, the gates swung closed, and I stood before the assembled dreams. I drew myself up, and projected my voice across the sands, speaking with the authority of a thousand mythic rulers.

"I think that there has been some sort of misunderstanding." My voice was light, the tone friendly. It contrasted heavily with the effect my words had on the crowd, who stared at me, wide-eyed. "It seems that many of you have taken it upon yourselves to establish your own territories. Laudable, perhaps, save for one thing."

I opened my hand, the other still occupied with the pouch. This was the important part, which would make or break the story I was telling. If this worked, they'd be caught.

The desert shuddered as I pulled on the threads, feeling the unusual twists where the dreams had crafted their creations. It was a tiny part of the desert, a drop of water in a storm. But it was mine nonetheless. With a tug the knots fell apart, and the small castles fell into silver sands. The dreams began to react, shouts already echoing across the desert. If I didn't do something they might riot.

I wasn't done. The sands, still vaguely in the shapes that they had held, lost their coherency and began to swirl in the wind. Tiny swirls of sand grew larger and larger, dancing together until the entire crowd was engulfed in a sandstorm that touched the sky. I stood in the centre of the tornado, Sophia on my shoulder, completely untouched.

The storm tightened, growing smaller and smaller, until the entire vortex spun on the palm of my hand. It calmed slowly, and eventually the sand I held was calm, silver and shining in the twilight. On the tiny dunes, one could see equally miniature castles, a thousand fairy tale settings done in silver grains of sand.

I poured the sand into my pouch, letting the tiny kingdoms fall with it. The crowd stared at me, standing silent on an untouched desert.

"This is my desert," I spoke, and my words spread across the multitude. "All within is in my domain, and under my authority."

Behind me, the gates of horn opened. I spun of my heel and began to walk up the stairs, feeling the tension of the crowd behind me. One more performance.

I reached the uppermost step and turned, looking down across the assembled dreams. I lifted my arms into the air, encompassing the entirety of them in my gesture.

The sun sunk below the horizon, and the twilight gave way to true night, stars shining in the dark blue sky. The large and silver moon hung behind me, silhouetting the castle in its light.

"Court is now in session." The words echoed satisfyingly across the desert, reverberating for a moment before silence reasserted itself.

I entered the throne room triumphantly, Sophia on my shoulder, leaving the massive doors behind me open as I crossed the vast space. Beside my throne stood the Corinthian, apparently returned. He was examining the silver cage. I sat down on the hard marble throne just as the first of the petitioners entered, heads bowed

I'd given them a story to believe in, and that was enough for them. The question I wouldn't let show on my face remained, however.

Would it be enough for me?

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Only an interlude left in Act 4. Then we're starting the endgame.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	33. Prince of Dreams 4.∞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tin Mother, Maighdean, Crown
> 
> Morphosis, a Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Prince Of Dreams
> 
> 4.∞

[]

Vista marched towards me, grumbling under her breath, her focus on the ground. On the steps of the PRT Headquarters behind her sat Clockblocker and Gallant, both deeply involved in conversation.

"Something wrong?"

Vista simply growled louder. "Just boys. Talking 'bout girls. De- Gallant's being all mopey because Glory Girl isn't paying as much attention to him lately, and of course Den- Clockblocker's idea of support is talking about how Panacea has really 'come into her own' lately. Like she hasn't lost her powers!" She waved her arms in the air, emphasizing her statements. "It's so stupid! All they talk about is girls, and Clockblocker always has to make the conversation gross somehow. Stupid boys!" She paused for breath, staring at the ground, and her voice grew quiet. "They hardly seem to talk about Shadow Stalker. I mean, yeah, she wasn't a friend, but she was still a Ward. A hero. But no, they'd rather talk about Glory Girl!"

Now the volume returned and with it came the arm waving. This time she hit her hand against my side with a metallic clang. Vista froze, realizing who she was ranting at.

I moved the head of my current remote suit, the long metal neck twisting so I could look at the Ward standing beside it. The design wasn't very efficient, but it was imposing, shaped like a typical western dragon. It had more details than the majority of my other suits, a scale like design covering the majority of the nearly car sized body, spines running along the back. The wings weren't aerodynamic, oddly shaped and bulky, more for show than for efficient flight.

Honestly, that was rather the point. I wasn't expecting a fight to break out.

"Um..." The Ward seemed nervous. It was understandable. Though I was technically younger than her, I was still rather famous. Dragon, the world's greatest living tinker!

As an AI I found it was little ironies like that which made the restrictions I had chafe a bit less. I refocused my attention when I noticed that Vista seemed to have regained the ability to speak, having decided on a less charged topic to talk about.

"Why are we still out here?"

"You mean 'Why are we still standing outside the PRT Headquarters, when there are more interesting things we could be doing?'" Vista nodded sheepishly. I chuckled, the sound slightly off, synthetic.

For all that we dressed them up, they were still children. I decided to humor her, and waved the suit's head in a sweeping gesture in front of us. "What do you see?"

Vista looked out at the crowd, eyes squinting below her visor. The crowd wasn't anything special, a bit larger than normal, but nothing unusual.

The Ward seemed to reach the same conclusion as she pouted, turning to me with a huff. "A bunch of people. Whoop de doo."

I ignored the sarcasm. "Look closer. What are they doing? Where are they looking?"

She looked at me for a moment, before turning her attention back to the crowd, focusing intently, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. I found it rather cute.

"Well, they're looking at us..."

I nodded. "Where else?"

"The sky?" It was more a question, but it was the right idea. "Is this about... the Simurgh? And that big lady, Dream?"

I didn't respond. It wasn't necessary to. The Simurgh, quite possibly the most terrifying of the Endbringers, breaking pattern and attacking twice in a row, a month before another attack was expected. Displaying power far beyond anything that it had demonstrated before, creating a whole army of creatures out of apparently nowhere. The damage still hadn't been repaired from those minutes of terror.

In those brief, panicky moments the world had held its breath, waiting for Brockton Bay to go the way of Ellisburg. Wondering exactly what else the Endbringers might still have in store.

Then the Simurgh vanished, and in her place stood a woman the size of skyscrapers. Dream. The parahuman that had been confusing the PRT and Protectorate for the past few months, displaying yet another unexplainable ability. The fact that Taylor Hebert, a girl of fifteen according to her birth certificate, seemed quite a bit older and paler than that simply made things even stranger. If it weren't for her now iconic cloak and sword, no one would have connected the woman with stars for eyes with the slender girl.

A slender girl who had put an entire city to sleep, and then vanished into the wind.

Vista was talking. I might have blinked, were I human. Instead I simply had my dragon suit look at her attentively.

"That's what those clothes are about, right? The black ones, with the white dots?"

Ah. Those. I'd rather she hadn't noticed them. A huff, the steam that came from my nostrils yet another nod towards style and I turned back to the crowd, noting that, yes, a number of people were wearing clothing that evoked the image of Dream's cloak.

"Remember the scream? The one that everyone heard?" Yet another paranoia inducing aspect of the entire situation. Had the Simurgh deceived us as to her range? Or was it due to Dream?

Neither answer sat well. My dragon suit shifted slightly, claws scratching the pavement. Vista nodded, expression serious.

I continued. "Some people took it to mean that the Simurgh had been beaten. Maybe killed." I shrugged, wings exaggerating the motion. "The fact that the Simurgh didn't return, and hasn't been seen since... well. You know about the Scion cults?" The first parahuman was a magnet for them, his behavior and appearance evoking old archetypes and older behavior patterns. Ever since the golden man had appeared over the ocean, the presence of his cults had been nearly constant, if not really significant.

"Yeah." Vista frowned. "Doesn't that mean people think she's some sort of, uh, god? Goddess? She's barely older than me!" The Ward seemed to take issue with the last point in particular, and I laughed, showing rows of silver teeth.

"Would you like to be a goddess? Lady Vista, perhaps, whom all must love and fear." The girl pouted at my teasing. "But yes. That, along with all the other unknowns of the situation, have lead to the PRT calling for a general meeting and the implementation of Master/Stranger protocols."

Vista pointed at me, realization dawning on her face. "So that's why you're here! Masters can't control you, and Strangers can't fool you!" She calmed down, still looking confused. "But that doesn't explain why we're here though."

"Doesn't it?" An alert came to my attention. "The people need to be reassured. They need their heroes. And I need to pay attention to a meeting. They've finally dragged Armsmaster out of his room." Vista giggled, and I took off, aiming for the roof of the building. It would be a good vantage point.

"Talk to you later!" Vista shouted up, waving enthusiastically.

Children, I thought fondly, as I crouched on the roof of the PRT Headquarters like a gargoyle.

I had the same thought, with rather less good humor, when I turned my attention to the meeting to find Rime and Myrrdin sniping at each other on video call. Not everyone could, or would, make the trip to Brockton Bay. Myrrdin was, oddly enough, out of costume, a duster replacing his normal burlap cloak. He still had the enormous beard and pointed hat he used to conceal his identity, but the combination made him look less like a wizard, or even a cape, and more like a homeless man.

Most people would, and did, bear his claims that his attire was 'traditional' with good grace. Not Rime, however, and the normally stoic cyrokinetic never passed up an opportunity to needle the wizard.

"Aw... what happened to the cloak Mister Wizard? Shrunk in the wash? You do wash it, don't you?" The second-in-command of the Los Angeles Protectorate had wicked smirk on her face.

Myrrdin scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "... Revel said I had to 'update' my look. And burned it."

Rime chuckled. "Girl's opinionated. Good choice for a second."

Myrrdin nodded, still scowling. "Yes, yes she is. Also, just because you don't like how my powers work isn't an excuse to be rude."

Rime outright laughed. "You mean your claims that you have a Thinker/Tinker power geared towards 'magic'? Your powers tell you anything about this mess?"

The leader of the Chicago Protectorate drummed his fingers on his staff. The patterns on it were odd and angular, vaguely reminiscent of some sort of runic script."My power's not like that, as you well know. It tells me things about how the world works, and how to tap into it. Nothing really specific. And my artifacts work. I didn't get to where I am by collecting bottle-caps. Still..." He drew the word out, a smirk of his own evident even beneath his beard. "In this case I do have something to share." Everyone in the meeting, save the still absent Costa-Brown, sat up straighter. "All of you know how my Mover power works, right?"

Narwhal, representing the Canadian Guild, nodded her head. I noticed the slight wobble that indicated her horn had hit the camera. Sometimes I really wondered about my fellow capes. I knew she didn't have to keep the horn, made as it was out of her forcefields. She did so anyway.

"The sympathetic thing? You go around one thing, and end up going around another, similar, thing somewhere else?" She waved a hand in the air. No one besides Myrrdin really understood how his powers worked, and he was an awful teacher. Revel was very determined to learn, though she hadn't made much progress. That didn't stop Myrrdin from bragging about his 'apprentice'.

Myrrdin nodded. "Yeah. But more than that, I generally have to travel through a landscape of some sort to get to the destination. If I use a tree, I end up in a forest. A rock, and I end up in a stony desert. You get the picture. My power tells me where I should exit." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "But over the past few days things haven't been nearly as empty as before. Just animals, birds and the like. But something's changed."

He leaned back, still smirking. Everyone else in the room contemplated the information. It was... rare, for powers to interact so tangentially. Then again if it was going to be anyone's power, it would be his. The proposed mechanism for both, the use of alternate realities that they could access and travel through and, perhaps, impose on the current one, were similar enough that it wasn't surprising.

"Would you be able to strike at Dream using your power?" Everyone blinked and looked at who had spoken. Emily Piggot, Director of the Brockton Bay PRT, sat at the end of the table, facing the screens. Her face might have been flabby, and her hair unflattering, but her eyes were hard as they stared at Myrrdin.

He stared back, equally serious for once. "Probably." I could feel the room about to erupt. So did he, and he raised his hand. "But I won't. With the kind of power we think she would have... it would be suicide. Absolute stupidity."

Rime growled at him. "Even so, you should try! If not a direct assault, then information gathering at least." Around her the virtual crowd muttered, clearly divided. On one hand, they had to take action. On the other, rushing into action could lead to disaster.

Myrrdin drew himself up, ready to shout, his floppy hat going out of view. "I think I, more than anyone here, know the risks that come with my power. So why don't you get off your high horse-"

"Quiet." The words were hard and cut through the impeding argument like a razor. Everyone flinched in place, and refocused. One screen that had been blank was now occupied.

Chief Director Costa-Brown had arrived. She looked around the group, face expressionless. "I do not head the PRT in order to watch our greatest heroes act like children. Now, can anyone tell me what you have gathered in order to neutralize the threat posed by Dream?"

Chevailier, who had been silent all throughout the meeting, cleared his throat. "Going by what we know... her teleportation, supposedly similar to Myrrdin's, ranks her at Mover 8. Not fast enough for direct combat usage, but good for escapes and general transportation. Stranger ranking is still undecided, but the subject is capable of penetrating a Wards room under heavy surveillance, attack, and then leave unmolested. Maybe more than once." Miss Militia was sleeping now, wasn't she? Yet another oddity. "Factoring in her mover abilities..." He paused in his recital and looked up. Everyone, even my virtual avatar, was somber, eyes tense. He coughed and continued, picking up the pace. "Yeah, uh. Brute 2, maybe 3, given the incident at Ellisburg." Director Piggot twitched. She had been in one of the early attacks on Ellisburg, hadn't she? "Shaker, unranked, for her sleeping trick. Master, unranked, but presumed high. Thinker similarly. Trump 8, possibly higher, pre-cog blocking and power interference." He put the paper down with a sigh. "Honestly? We have no idea. The closest thing we've got to an explanation is that post on the forums, but the account went inactive once they noticed we were making inroads. Has any progress been made on finding the cape involved? Tattletale, was it?"

He looked at Armsmaster, standing stiffly by the door. Piggot was the one who answered. "I've assigned my director of operations to the task, but no progress has been made. Given our suspicions as to her being a powerful Thinker, it will take time to get results." A brief pause.

Narwhal spoke up next. "How about the Master rating? This is the first I've heard of it."

Chevalier nodded, looking back down towards his papers. "Besides the 'Giant putting a city to sleep', which we still aren't sure how to classify, the reasoning we had for the inclusion of a Master rating would be this."

I received the image file he sent and examined it. Two pictures, cropped together, showing a figure lying on the ground. In the first, the figure's face was covered by a smooth black helmet. In the second the helmet was gone, revealing the face of Jack Slash. The leader of the now-defunct Slaughterhouse 9 was most assuredly dead.

"Given similar reports of a black knight before the city all fell asleep, we assume she is capable of creating at least one servant, perhaps using a living person as a medium. We don't know." Chevalier frowned. "On a different note: how was the damage from people falling asleep?"

This time I was the one to reply, no one else having as easy access to the relevant data. "Not nearly as bad as it could be. Traffic and most hazardous activities stopped when the Simurgh appeared, and at midnight there weren't many anyway. There were still casualties, however, anywhere from a couple hundred to a couple thousand. Property damage is a bit higher, as the creatures weren't kind to the pavement. Or people's doors." Or people's lives.

Director Piggot narrowed her eyes at my avatar, her voice low and heated. "What do we know about these creatures? Origin, current location? We simply can't afford another Nilbog, especially given her other abilities."

"Nothing." I was calm, clinical. The majority of the room shifted uncomfortably. There were entirely too many things we didn't know. Any predictions we made would be speculation at best, little better than the Versus Boards. Maybe worse, since I hadn't had to intervene directly on the boards quite as often recently.

"So." The Chief-Director looked at each of us, eyes half-lidded. "As to her powers we know nothing. How about her personality? Are there any levers there?"

Piggot scowled and Armsmaster silently handed her a manila folder. He didn't want to be here. I could sympathize. "Nothing useful. We have information on her from before: Taylor Hebert, 15, female, attending Winslow High, socially isolated: possibly bullied - which may relate to her trigger - mother dead, father involved in dockworker's union." She listed off the most important data points lightly, before snapping the file closed and tossing it across the desk.

"Unfortunately, Ms. Hebert - Dream - seems to enjoy making a fool of profilers. Her actions, such as they are, seem almost random. If she has a gameplan, well, it might not be a surprise that the Simurgh decided to pay her visit." Everyone ignored the comment, even as Director Piggot continued, picking up steam. "Dragging an artist into her pocket dimension, attacking Ellisburg, saving little girls, neutering Panacea. That pre-cog you have Legend? Dinah? Didn't she mention being saved by a girl in a black cloak, who called herself Dream?"

The head of the Protectorate started, clearly surprised at being included. "Uh... yes? Dinah Alcott aka Oracle. Pre-cog in the form of visions, often interpreted in percentages." Legend recited the information by rote, clearly still on the back foot. He rallied quickly, and gave a gentle smile. "She's been doing well."

Piggot nodded, jowls wobbling. "We don't know why she does the things she does. She gives us an immensely powerful pre-cog, and removes our greatest healer. Why? Her father says he's estranged, and excessive pressure would simply be cause for revenge. No leverage there. No close friends, no obvious buttons, no clear goals. Honestly? We have no idea what Dream is capable of, physically or emotionally. Killing her would require either a trap, or going into a place where we think she's effectively god. Capturing her would require her to pull a Lady-in-Waiting. But I don't think she's as crazy as Maighdean." The Director sat back, scowling heavily, sweat beading on her brow.

Costa-Brown nodded politely, acknowledging the Director's point. Piggot waved her off, kneading at her forehead. "We understand the situation. However, duty behooves us to try. Now, Legend, Bonesaw has recently been transferred to your containment facility..."

I let my mind wander, the specifics of the conversation quickly becoming redundant. Instead I focused on Piggot's final words.

Maighdean. The only parahuman to ever enter the Birdcage willingly, apparently trading her freedom for a story.

I flicked my attention over to the Birdcage, accessing the surveillance systems. She was still there, serving her voluntary sentence.

I wondered why.

The Lady-in-Waiting closed her eyes and nodded, as if she was listening to someone.

"Yes... But how?... The librarian? Really? How?... The jailer. Of course." Her bright green eyes, luminescent in way that wasn't quite human, opened.

They focused on the camera, which focused along with its fellows, trying to find a clue as to the Lady-in-Waiting's actions.

"Jailor? Record this, as you do everything else." Like most things the Maighdean said, the words were delivered with impact that would be the envy of many an actor, like she was on a stage. I paid close attention.

"The Lady in Waiting calls on the Prince of Stories." With that she sat down, and fell asleep.

In a tiny corner of a massive cage, metal eyes watched. And recorded.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> As non-canon as this Myrrdin is, he's still a ton of fun to write. Also Glaistig Uaine!
> 
> And That's Act 4!
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	34. Duty and Dissociation 5.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morphosis, A Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Duty and Dissociation
> 
> 5.1

What's your story?

 

[]

The last of the petitioners had finally left, the massive doors at the end of the hall slamming shut behind them. I sighed slowly as I let the tension seep out of my shoulders. They'd be back, some dispute over borders or authority to take up my time.

But for now? I could relax.

I leaned back in my throne and ran my fingers through my hair. On my shoulder Sophia jerked.

"Huh? Wha-" She looked around, blinking furiously. "Oh. So they're gone? Thank god! They were so boring, constantly begging for scraps like that."

I yawned, my mouth stretching widely and my arms extended over my head. Sophia hopped off my shoulder and onto the armrest of the throne. She looked off to the side, staring down at the Simurgh's cage.

"What's the deal with that... thing anyway? Went down like a chump." She poked the cage with a wing, earning herself a glare from the white songbird inside.

I looked over the edge of the throne, examining the avian more closely. It wasn't really for my benefit, I knew most of what I needed to anyway, but what I did know... "A dream. Nightmare."

Sophia looked at me. "Like the eye-guy?" I nodded. "How the hell did she get out?"

"Exactly." I had no idea. Something to look into.

I stood up, stretching out my limbs. I had no idea how long I'd been sitting there, but I was stiff. My cloak shifted as I pulled on it, losing the detailing that it had adopted when I had been before the court. I looked around.

Save for the silver cage by the throne, the room was empty. I had already fixed the doors on each side, though none of them seemed to lead into dreams anymore.

My footed tapped loudly on the marble floor. I had established control over my domain, captured the Simurgh, and dealt with my... subjects' problems.

I had no idea what to do.

"You know, when I asked you if you had a plan, I wasn't suggesting you declare yourself God-Empress of a bunch of monsters. So, when I ask you whether or not you have another plan, please don't do something equally stupid. Now, that said, what are you going to do now?"

I didn't reply.

"Nothing?" A pause. "Well. I don't know about you but I definitely have things planned. Have fun." She took off and flew away in a flurry of black feathers.

Now I was really alone. I looked around, eying the silver cage again. The Simurgh glared at me, wings half-spread.

I shrugged. I supposed I could read a bit.

[]

I was struggling through On the Materialization of Dreams. Every time I picked the damn thing up it seemed to find a way to make the experience even more tortuous. Now it was going on and on about some boy trapped in his dreams. Or was it the adults pretending to be his guardians who were dreaming? All of them? None of them?

I put the book down with a scowl and a satisfying thump.

That was going nowhere. Maybe I could find another book to read?

The shelves loomed over, stretching on to infinity. More books than anyone could ever read, even if they had an eternity. I wasn't sure this many books had ever even been written, though Materialization, penned as it was by a Reverend Sigmund Freud, seemed to imply it didn't matter.

I looked around the massive shelves, indecisive. Spoiled for choice.

I probably stood there for a number of minutes before I was spared the agony of actually trying to decide what to read by the appearance of Tin Mother. She was making her way through the shelves on the glass and marble side of the library, a single volume in her metal claws.

The dog-sized dragon stopped in front of me, staring silently with bright green eyes. Around her I could feel a multitude of threads, most very thin. One was thicker than the rest however, and it was that one that I decided to pull on, lightly.

A flash of images, of numbers and wires, of light and chains, left us both blinking. Tin Mother was the first to speak.

"What- What was that?" The sound of machinery stuttering, like a gear that had jammed briefly, accompanied the question. I looked at the dragon a bit more closely, trying to figure out exactly what had just happened. She was a dream, clearly, but the way she felt... it reminded me of the Simurgh.

"I'm entirely sure.. I promised you help, right?" She nodded slowly. "What do you know about your... restrictions? Where they came from?"

She looked at me, pupilless eyes narrowed. "Not a great deal. I have had them for as long as I remember. Why?"

I frowned. "That... might end up delaying things. If I'm not careful, well..." I shrugged and looked away. "It could very well kill you." If it was as central to her as I thought it was...

She sighed, steam billowing around her snout. "I expected as much. Such restrictions would hardly exist if the could be easily circumvented. Regardless, that is not why I am here."

I looked up, surprised. She extended her claw, still holding the volume she had been carrying before.

"What's that?" I took the slim book, feeling the green leather of its cover under my fingers, and cracked it open. It was the description of a prison, immensely detailed and precise. On the opposite page it showed a young girl in a black cloak, blonde hair splayed around her head. As I flipped through the book I noticed the girl get up and hold a conversation with the apparently empty room. She seemed familiar, somehow. Like I should know her.

"Tin Mother... who is this?" The girl looked really familiar. I just couldn't place why.

"To answer your first question, that is the latest update from the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center. You might know it better as the Birdcage."

I blinked. The Birdcage was where they kept the worst of the worst, capes with kill counts in the triple digits or more. Dragon, the world's greatest tinker, served as its warden, and there had never been a successful breakout in all the years it had been operational.

"So that little girl- " I made it to the end of the book and stared. A pair of luminous green eyes stared out from the picture. The opposite page was empty, save for one line.

"The Maighdean, yes. And it seems she wishes to meet with you, though where she found the appellation of 'Prince of Stories' I can't honestly say."

I sighed and shook my head, handing the book back to Tin Mother. She looked at me sympathetically.

I chuckled. "There's always something, isn't there?" She shrugged. "Well, I suppose I have a meeting to get to. We'll talk later." She nodded and I turned to go, making my way back down the stairs to the throne room.

The 'Prince of Dreams' had someone to meet. I focused on the image of those too-wide eyes as I opened the door behind the throne and stepped through.

[]

I was standing in a bright forest, the light streaming through the leaves to dapple the ground. The grass was soft and springy under my feet, and the smell of flowers floated by on a warm breeze. I swore I could hear music.

It was a nice place. I could feel the threads that held this place together, running underneath the ground. They were leading somewhere, and I followed, drinking in the atmosphere.

There was something almost intoxicating about being here.

A shadow flitted through the trees with a tinkle of chimes and bright laughter. I whirled, my hand going to my sword, and saw nothing. The shape had vanished.

The forest didn't seem quite as innocent as before. I kept walking, following the threads that twisted around me, getting closer together as I approached my destination.

The music was growing louder, and other things slowly made themselves to my senses. The smell of spices on the wind, the sound of shouting and laughter, the flickering light that danced through the trees. They were heady and raucous, and I shook my head to keep myself from being distracted.

Then I broke through the edge of the forest and stumbled as the rush of noise and color washed over me. A crowd of dreams, each of them strange and unique, danced around a fire that was taller than some buildings? I wondered how I missed it as I stepped further into the clearing, the music strange and enchanting, played on a number of instruments that never existed outside of dreams. The dancers bumped and jostled me as I forced my way through the crowd, trying to find the center of the dream. A dream with the head of a horse jumped in front of me, holding berries.

"Do you want some?" He leaned uncomfortably forward, all but shoving the fruit into my face. I leaned back and raised my hands in front of, warding him off.

"No thank you." He simply grinned wider, even as the dancers moved away from us.

"Ah, but you didn't let me finish!" He waved his hands with a magician's flourish, presenting the berries as one might a precious treasure. They were very nice berries, but I wasn't hungry. I looked around. We were alone. "See, these are no ordinary berries, oh lady fair! The berries of the fae have qualities that no ordinary fruit can match! A single bite, ecstasy, the juice flowing like ambrosia! Men would - and have - killed for merely a taste, and here I am, offering a bounty greater than all the hoards of the waking world." He stared into my eyes, his so wide I couldn't see their whites. I reached for my sword. "What do you say now, milady?"

This was getting irritating. "Get those out of my face befo-"

"Good fellow, do stop harassing the guests. It's very impolite." The voice sounded like fingers on glass, clear and unearthly. The horse-faced dream blanched, posture slumping. We both turned to face the new arrival. A young girl, fifteen at the oldest, approached us. Her hair was wild, blonde tangles framing her face, and decorated with flowers. Her clothes seemed to be made of leaves, and she wore nothing on her feet but the dirt they picked up from the ground. But it was her eyes that named her, too large and green to be anyone else. A necklace, dark and unadorned, hung around her neck.

"Maighdean." I bowed. No need to antagonize her, and from what little I knew she viewed herself as some sort of nobility. Might as well play along. She ignored me, keeping her attention focused on the dream, who was all but prostrating himself before her.

"My lady, I merely wished to show our guest the wonders that our realm possesses. Is this not in accord with your plans?" The horse-faced dream asked plaintively. The Maighdean looked down at him, eyes narrowed.

"You forget your place. You are the adviser here, not the lady. And you must treat guests with respect. Especially this one." The dream nodded quickly and desperately. "Leave us." He did so quickly, and the Maighdean turned to me. "My lady, shall we adjourn to a more private setting?"

She was really into her role as a noble, wasn't she? Regardless, I nodded, and followed behind her as she walked off, pulling further away from the crowds. She probably wouldn't be able to hurt me, not while we were in dreams.

We made our way through the trees, the forest growing closer together and darker as we progressed deeper into the forest. The trees towered over us, blocking out the sky, and roots covered the ground. The girl in front of scrambled over a particularly large root, and vanished from sight.

I decided to forgo that particular route, and did something I probably should have done a while ago. The roots surged under me, coiling like snakes, lifting me up over the barrier. I hopped over the massive root and land in a pile of pillows. The Maighdean was glaring at me.

"Cheater." I shrugged and looked around. We were sitting in the fork a truly massive tree, which was draped in silks and cloths in a million different colors. Below us burned another bonfire. Or was it the same one? I couldn't tell. Either way it looked like the festivities were in full swing, dreams dancing around the flame, casting long shadows into the dark woods.

The moon hung full and bright overhead, the warm sunlight from earlier having disappeared.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

I turned to look at my host. The Maighdean was staring out across the crowd, her expression distant and wistful.

"I suppose it depends on your point of view."

The girl chuckled, shaking her head. "Come now! Surely you can appreciate the craft that has gone into this?" She sighed. "I just wish it could last longer."

No one spoke for quite a while afterward. Then she laughed, the sound bright and pealing.

"I have a great idea! Let's tell stories!" She stared at me, her eyes wide and excited, hands clasped beneath her chin.

I stared back, expression deadpan. "I am here for a reason. Unless you called on me just for this?" I stood up slowly, hampered by the pillows that seemed intent on smothering me.

She pouted. "You're no fun, you know that? Fine, I'll make things interesting." She pulled the necklace she was wearing off, and held it up. It was rather simple, as necklaces go, just a black thread. The only accessory it had was a simple metal cap, like what might hold a gem of some sort.

"What's that supposed to be?" It seemed... off.

She stood tall and imposing. Or at least she would have been, had she not looked like a young girl. "An amulet of great power." She spoke in what was likely her best approximation of a booming voice. She shrugged. "Or, at least, it could be." She lowered her hand and looked at the necklace. "You put your story here, and keep it safe. Then no one can twist it against you, while you can do with it what you wish." My hand reached towards my sleeve, slightly. She looked at me shrewdly. "Interested?"

I thought about it. I probably didn't need it. I doubted anything could seriously hurt me like that.

In my sleeve, a golden gem gleamed. Still...

I sat back down among the pillows. "What's the catch?"

She smiled broadly, the expression far too wide for her face. "In exchange, I would require enough sand to make a man, and to hear your story. A pittance for the Lady of Dreams, but still, I could not part with this without such."

I frowned, both at the title and what she was asking for. I remembered how much I had used to make the Corinthian. "What could you possibly need that much sand for?"

She didn't answer, simply kicking her feet over the edge of the tree, dirt flying off into the crowd below. The festivities were becoming more and more frantic. The sun was beginning to rise. I sighed.

"Can I tell my story now?"

She smiled brightly at me, eyebrow raised. "I don't know. Can you?"

I scowled and reached into my sleeve, calling the gold and blue strands around me, weaving them into a scene. I could feel it take shape, the wind circling around me, encompassing and exhilarating.

I opened my eyes and I was once again flying over the streets of Brockton Bay, cape flapping proudly on my back. I opened my mouth, ready to begin and-

The dream shattered with the sound of tinkling crystal, and I stood among the pillows again, the sound of music and the smell of spice and smoke surrounding me instead of the wind. In my hand, the golden gem cracked, just a little. I looked at the crystal, shocked. I hadn't expected that.

The Maighdean was staring at me, her too-wide eyes sad. "I guess you can't. It's not right to lie, you know." Her tone was almost comically apologetic. "Maybe when you find your story, you can come back and tell it to me?" She smiled, and the expression was hopeful, far too innocent for someone who I knew was a murderer.

"I don't suppose-" I could still trade the sand. I hefted the pouch. I was hardly going to run out.

She shook her head. "If it's not your story, what's the point? The amulet would be useless and the sand would be worse." She stood up and walked to the edge of the tree. Below, the festivities were drawing to a close, the last of the revelers quieting down, even as the first rays of daylight began to make their way into the clearing.

The Maighdean jumped of the tree and slid down the trunk, scattering bark in her wake and tossing her cloak up behind her. The cloth obscured my view, the black fabric covering my eyes as it settled over my head. When I had pulled it off and could see again, there was no one there. I raced over to the edge of the tree and looked down.

They were gone. The celebrants and their lady. Vanished, like they'd never even been there. Was that what it felt like to other people when I used the doors?

I frowned, even as the tree shifted back into a marble balcony, and the forest returned to a desert. I could feel the dreams around me, some more petitioners lined up at the doors, the rest still trying to organize themselves, out beyond the horizon. I ignored them. None of them were quite right. The golden gem had been the closest, still was the closest, but it had cracked. It wasn't my dream anymore, I knew that very well.

But how would I find out what my dream was?

I couldn't even go for a vision quest in the desert. It rather ruined the point when the desert would part in front of you if you wanted.

As much as I hated to admit it, I needed advice. Sophia was still gone, off to do whatever it was that she needed to do, and Tin Mother wasn't likely to be of much help in this case. Maybe the Corinthian?

I shuddered. No. Bad idea. Someone else, anyone else, would be better than that.

A different name came to mind, and an altogether less frightening face. Hopefully this meeting would be a bit less awkward.

Maybe I did need a friend, after all.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> This was a pain to write.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	35. Duty and Dissociation 5.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So something completely unexpected happened. Sorry about the delay.
> 
> Morphosis, A Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Duty and Dissociation
> 
> 5.2

[]

The project I was working on was being extremely uncooperative. The lights in my studio were mostly off, except for the single desk lamp I kept on, shining in my face. In a far corner, a bed and a nightstand joined the table and chair I was using as the only furniture in the room. Scattered across the majority of the space was a number of projects, all in various states of incompleteness.

I stared at the plasticine I'd been shaping for the past few hours. The outlines of the figures involved were mostly fleshed out, one strangling the other, leaning over in a way that would have been romantic in most other contexts. Now it was something quite a bit less harmless. On their faces was a pair of matching smirks, as if what was occurring was simply a game and not a murder. It was an interesting piece as it was. But I couldn't help but feel I was missing something.

I knew what I wanted. The image was all but burned into my mind.

If that was true, then why couldn't I make it look right?

I sat back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. Bright table lights hurt.

Wait. How late was it? I flipped open my phone, careful to avoid touching the screen with my oily fingers. I stared at the screen. Five in the morning. And I had places to be tomorrow.

I stood up quickly, sending my chair sliding backwards, and walked over to my cot. I then collapsed into sleep.

[]

A figure stood in front of me, carved in marble and glass. They stood taller than me, eyes a piercing blue. I stood stock still, not sure what to do.

The figure scowled, displeased. What had I done? What hadn't I done? They lifted an arm and I lifted off, a gale having sprung up out of nowhere to buffet me. I could feel the wind take me apart, ripping me to pieces. I reached for them desperately, but the wind took my fingers as I tried, the appendages snapping off like a branches in a storm.

I fell to my knees, clutching my throbbing hand to my chest as I screamed in pain. Then the winds took my tongue, and I was silent, a bloodless wound in my mouth where the muscle should be. The wind whirled around me, taking everything I let it.

I held on to what pieces I could, and curled into a ball. Now was no time for pride, the wind howling around me, sand flaying at my skin. It hurt. I could feel my skin being lifted off, scoured by the flying dust. My limbs left me one by one, as did my eyes.

I held onto my heart. The sand whipped around me, grabbing with a thousand clawing hands. But I held on, and eventually the storm passed.

The winds died down, and I was whole again. I stood up slowly, not trusting the limbs that had so recently been stolen. Before me stood two figures, obscured by flying sand. Their outlines were damn familiar. I stepped forward, trying to reach them and-

The sound of my cellphone ringing woke me up with a start. My eyes flew open, the crust flaking off like sand. Then they snapped shut again, the light streaming in from the window entirely too bright. I swore and kicked off my blankets.

I rolled out of the cot and onto the studio floor with a thump, hand reaching for the damn thing. I managed to get my finger under the edge of the screen and flipped it open. It beeped at me. I had forgotten to plug it in last night, hadn't I?

I put the phone next to my ear. "Yeah?" I swallowed, trying to clear some of the roughness from my voice. I tried again. "Hello?"

"Robert. It's ten thirty." My eyes opened again, not caring about the bright light. What.

"Shit. Sorry bro-"

He cut me off. "It's you who's going to be sorry if you don't get ready. The exhibition is going to open around one, but they want you there early. Socialize, make connections, last minute checks. You know the drill." He hung up.

I scowled and closed the phone with a snap. God did I know the drill. I picked up my sketchbook and looked around the studio. It was full of half-finished projects, sculptures that I had decided weren't going to work, that I wanted to work, that I would make work.

I flicked the lights off and closed the door behind me as I left.

[]

My collar was trying to strangle me. I pulled it away from my neck, trying to relieve the pressure on my throat.

"Stop fidgeting. You'll look like a kid if you do that." Adam was glaring at me, seemingly perfectly comfortable in his own suit. Bastard.

"Why do I have to be here, again?" He rolled his eyes. I'd probably asked this question at almost every exhibition.

He always answered. "Because if you don't, you won't get as many offers, or as much money. And if you don't have money..."

I sighed. "You don't have time or materials or food. I know, I know." I'd heard the response a million times. I still didn't like it.

"Good. Now, smile and stand up straighter for god's sake. You're the artist here. Have some confidence!" He brushed some imaginary dust off of my jacket shoulder and straightened my tie. I bore it with as much grace as I could manage. "Now. Go in there, and make nice."

He shoved me through the the doors, and I was standing in the gallery. It felt entirely too big for the pieces that were on display, and I shifted uncomfortably, drumming my fingers on my sketchbook. I looked at each of the sculptures, all under their own little spotlights. I was beginning to wish I'd never let them out of the studio. I wanted to get out of here.

Adam walked up behind me and leaned in close. "No running away now. See that guy over there?" He pointed towards a man, surrounded by a number of other men in fine suits. "Private art collector. Obscenely rich. And there." A slightly less well dressed group, though still better dressed than me. "Curator of the Guggenheim. These are the kinds of people you need to impress."

I took a half step back, then another.Adam's hand, pressed up against my shoulder blades, stopped me from going further. "Can't I just impress them with my art?"

He looked at me for a second. Then he burst out laughing.

"It's not that funny."

He stopped laughing, though a smirk was still plastered on his face. "Maybe not. But still, no. Not nearly as easily anyway." He scowled. "Look sharp. The press is here."

Shit. I tensed up. I did not like dealing with reporters. Not at all.

"You want me to handle this?" I looked at him. He seemed actually concerned.

I shook my head. "Nah, I'll be fine."

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Right."

"You sound worried."

"That's because I am. Remember last time-"

"Yes. Yes I do. I also don't remember hiring you to be a publicist."

"I don't remember you hiring me at all. I'm just here as a concerned younger brother, looking out for his head-in-the-clouds elder-"

"Mr. Hoskins!" The voice cut through our argument. We turned to face the intruder. "And Mr. Hoskins. How are you doing this evening?" The smile on her face seemed almost genuine. Huh.

"Fine."

Adam glared at me briefly, before turning his attention back to the reporter. "All right, and you Miss..."

She jumped a little, looking flustered. I felt myself sympathizing. A little. "Ah! I'm Deborah Waters, from the Associated Press. I wanted to ask some questions to, uh, Mr. Hoskins." She turned to me, still looking nervous. Was she new to this?

"Um... so, Mr. Hoskins. There's been a lot of talk about the centerpiece of your exhibition. It seems to... strongly resemble a certain parahuman. Is there any reason for this?"

I grimaced. Great. Exactly the question I didn't want to answer. I looked around. We hadn't drawn any sort of crowd yet.

"That's a private matter that doesn't merit discussion." The formulaic answer rolled off my tongue, as oily as when the PRT's PR department had given it to me. "Any relevant information is already known by the PRT."

She pouted at me. "Nothing more than that?"

I shook my head. "No. How about a different question?" Please let her have a different question.

She flicked through a couple pages, not reassuring me at all. "Um... are there any projects underway that you'd like to tell the public about?"

That was a different question. I thought back to the studio, the feel of shaping something under my hands. My fingers drummed on my sketchbook. I still wasn't sure what exactly was wrong with that one piece. Maybe if I changed their expressions? No that wasn't quite right-

"-Hoskins? Mr. Hoskins?" I blinked. "Are you all right?"

Adam stepped in, noticing I had lost focus on the conversation. "Yeah he's fine, just a bit scatterbrained." He gave her a broad smile, teeth shining. "He didn't get much sleep last night. Do you think you could ask just one more question?"

She looked rather put out, but nodded, and turned to me. "Mr. Hoskins. As an artist whose field is normally out of the public eye, how do you feel at the amount of popular acclaim that you've acquired?"

"I'm kinda uncomfortable with it, really." She blinked, and opened her mouth to ask another question. I continued. "I mean, yeah it's nice, but I really just do it for me. Being famous, making money..." I shrugged, and looked around the massive gallery. It still felt far too large. "They weren't my dream." I looked at her. "Does that answer your question?"

She nodded stiffly, her face frozen in some expression I could recognize. Then she shook her head, and flushed, the same reporter as before. "Well...." She swallowed. "That's very interesting. Do you think I could ask you some more questions? Later, maybe?" I shrugged, and she nodded.

I watched her as she walked slowly back into the crowd.

Adam slapped me on the back. "Well done! I thought we were going to be standing here for a while, but man, you really stunned her!"

I rubbed my neck sheepishly.

Adam just chuckled, and began to walk off. "Come on, it's time to schmooze." He was aiming towards a group of men in suits, and I, still tugging at my collar, followed.

[]

For a moment I mistook her for one of the statues.

I was standing near the edge of one of the larger discussions, not really paying attention. Every once in a while, someone would attempt to drag me into the conversation.

I barely responded, and eventually they gave up. Adam probably wouldn't have liked it, but he was somewhere else. Socializing. I looked around the gallery. It was getting late, and the crowds weren't nearly as thick as they had been before.

Wait, that one wasn't in the right position. The statue of Dream, the first one I had ever really made, had been shifted.

Then it moved and I realized that no, it wasn't a statue. She was here. I made what excuses I had to, which weren't many, and made my way over. She seemed mostly unchanged from the last time I had seen her, still very tall and very pale. Her cloak seemed to be a bit different. A bit more styled? Less shapeless? It seemed more like a robe now, really.

She was staring at her own statue. I winced.

"You know, I wasn't expecting you to show up at one of my exhibitions."

She didn't respond. I turned my attention from her and to the sculpture. It was a pretty good likeness, if I did say so myself. A bit austere, maybe, but it was the austerity of a desert. Of an empty page in a sketchbook.

"Robert. Why do you do it?" I blinked and looked at her. She gestured to the statue with a scowl. "What makes you put your soul into something like this?" Her voice seemed... desperate?

That couldn't be right. I shrugged, confused. "It was... my dream, I guess. I always wanted to be a great artist."

She sighed, and closed her eyes. "But how do you know that it was your dream? What made you feel that it was something you had to do?" Wow. This was really bothering her. I shifted uncomfortably.

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer. She frowned, obviously disappointed. Her hand went to her sword, even as another went to her chin.

Wait.

I looked around the gallery. It seemed that none had noticed us. Yet. I wasn't sure I wanted to take the chance.

"Look. I owe you one, and I'll talk about it. But maybe we should take this somewhere more private." I made a show of looking around the room, noting each and very group.

She nodded absently, and we left the gallery together, walking out on to the streets of New York at night.

Nobody noticed.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> This took entirely too long. Next chapter should be longer, and also take less time to write. Also, better.
> 
> Sorry about the delay. Both my own efforts at reworking the final acts and the Athene controversy have conspired to delay this tremendously.
> 
> Once again, sorry.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	36. Duty and Dissociation 5.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeding the birds.
> 
> Morphosis, A Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Duty and Dissociation
> 
> 5.3

[]

We made our way through a side entrance from the gallery, and found ourselves on the streets of New York at night. The sidewalks were mostly clear, and the streets barely had any cars on them at all. My bare feet felt fine on the cold cement. Was that normal?

No one seemed to notice us on our walk, and we made it to our destination without much fuss.

The park was dark and empty, our footsteps the only sound aside from the rustling of the leaves. It was a nice night. A bit chilly, the remnants of winter still hanging around, but nice all the same. More importantly, no one seemed to be here at all, and it didn't look like that was going to change anytime soon.

"You know, you didn't give me any warning this time either." 

I blinked and looked at Robert. "What?"

He chuckled. "Last time you said you'd set something up and tell me beforehand. And yet..."

I scowled at him, not bothering to rebut his point, and sat down on the nearest park bench. He looked at me for a moment, still standing, expression confused.

"When did you change outfits?"

I looked down at myself, noting that, yes, the archaic cloak and robe had been swapped out at some point for a comfortable pair of slacks and a t-shirt. I wasn't sure when that had happened, and I shrugged. It fit my mood. He simply raised an eyebrow, inquiring further. I ignored him.

Once he seemed sure that no answer was forthcoming he shook his head, smiling lightly. I wasn't sure if it was from amusement or frustration.

Maybe both? 

He sat down heavily on the park bench, expensive suit straining at the too-casual movements and sighed.

No one talked for a while. I looked at the sky. I couldn't see the stars, the lights from New York enough to drown all but the brightest out.

"You want to talk about it?" I turned my head to face him, neck still bent backwards. "Whatever it is that's bothering you. Can't imagine you coming down for a social call like that."

I kept my face neutral as I replied. "I've done it before." He was right though, and I sighed, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees. "But yeah, I did have something I wanted to talk about. I figured you were my best bet."

Robert looked at me quizzically. "Me? Why me?"

"Because you offered." My tone was serious, and firm. 

He nodded slowly, expression thoughtful. "So..." The word hung in the air heavily. 

I scowled. "What do you know about my powers?"

He shrugged. "About as much as anyone else, really. Pocket dimension, special equipment, teleportation and trump. Plus whatever happened in Brockton Bay." His eyes sharpened as he stared at me. "But I think there's more to it than that. What I saw..." His expression went distant and he stared at the ground, the sentence eaten by the breeze. He shook his head quickly and looked at me again. "Doesn't fit." His voice was sure and steady.

I bit down the first thing that I thought to say. It was obviously private. I sighed and pulled out my sword, resting it on my lap. The blade was blue steel, reflecting the light almost like a crystal. The first thing I had really made with my power. A weapon worthy of a legendary hero.

There was a bitter irony about it.

I nodded. "You'd be right. It is much more than that." The sword on my lap glinted in the faint lights of nearby buildings. I paused, and closed my eyes, trying to straighten my thoughts. "It started off... fine, you know? Things weren't great but I had powers. Useful ones too. I helped people, did things that had to be done. It made me feel free."

"Then what happened?"

"The Simurgh." He flinched. "Or, at least, the Simurgh was the tipping point. I had to stop it. My powers, my responsibility. But..." I looked him in the eye, the words not coming to me as they normally did. 

Robert frowned, eyes sympathetic. "You regret what happened?"

I thought back to those brief moments after getting out of the Endbringer's trap, the feeling of freedom and power and things breaking. I recalled the show I had put on for the dreams, the aura of authority I had called to me with a blast of wind and sand. I remembered feeling angry about an artist who didn't put themselves into their work, and a walk in the desert.

I thought about a cracking gem.

"Maybe? More like I'm worried about what might happen." I bit my lip. "It's just... the power I have? It's huge. More than I ever imagined. I'm..."

"Not sure you'll be the same at the end of it?" What? How did he- "I'm not a moron, y'know. Last time we met you were upset about the same thing, really. How things were changing." He stood up, stretching his arms above his head and straining his jacket.

I looked at him numbly. "I- I guess..."

"It's like..." He paused, his hand on his chin. "When I first started getting big, right? It was a nightmare. Everyone seemed to want something from me, and I just wanted to work on my art. Still do, honestly. But my brother, he said that there was a price to following your dreams like that. I just had to decide what I was willing to pay." He shrugged. "Annoying as Adam gets, he still helped me out a lot. Siblings are like that."

"Must be nice."

He chuckled. "Yeah. Good to know someone's got your back like that. How about you? Any brothers, sisters?"

I shook my head, still staring at the ground. "No. No siblings. Just me."

"That's a shame."

"I guess. Is it worth it?" He blinked, confused. "Dealing with everyone, the fame."

He looked at me for a moment, weighing me up. "I don't know."

"That's not very helpful." 

He shrugged unapologetically. "Look, you helped me a lot. I don't think I'll ever be able to really repay you for that. But I'm probably not the best person to ask." He sat back down on the park bench. A number of pigeons had circled around us, expecting food.

I was disappointed. I had come here for some sort of answers, reassurance maybe, but my expectations had been a bit too high.

I sighed and made some bread, breaking off one half and handing it to Robert. He held it gingerly, like he was expecting it to bite him.

"You know, it's weird how casual you are with that. What did you do?" His voice was casual, even though his posture seemed nervous.

"Made some bread." I broke off a tiny piece and watched at the pigeons ineffectually fought over the tidbit. I could feel their dreams, minute compared to people and cats, but there nonetheless.

Robert didn't say anything for quite a while, and we fed the birds. It was late, and the park was empty and silent.

"If it's any consolation, I think you're doing something right. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. So... thanks."

I smiled, a little. "My pleasure."

"Just don't lose yourself." He smirked. "I'm still waiting on a scheduled meet up."

I stood up, stretching widely, and Robert did the same. He looked me up and down.

Mostly up. "Damn but you're tall."

I shrugged. "I guess. I've always been pretty tall. I don't think I should be taller than you, but..."

He winced sympathetically. "Powers?" I nodded. "Ouch."

An awkward silence fell upon us, only broken by the sound of pigeons, still looking for bread.

He coughed. "I guess I should be heading back. Adam's going to be worried." He shook his head, smiling fondly, before looking me in the eye. "If you do have any family, maybe you should ask them? My brother helped me a lot when I was just starting out, helped keep me balanced. Maybe someone who knows you better could help more?"

I thought of my dad the last time I saw him, worried and confused as Armsmaster came by to arrest his daughter. Who then vanished, and never spoke to him again.

I tried to convince myself that the taste in the back of my throat wasn't vomit.

"Maybe." I kept my voice as steady as I could. "Have a good night."

He didn't seem to notice anything. "Yeah, you too-"

"Hebert!" The voice cut through the park, scattering the pigeons even as its owner approached. "Something's fucked up!"

Sophia landed panting on the back of the bench, eyes slitted in anger as she glared at me.

"What." The word echoed oddly as I turned to look at her. I blinked.

Robert had spoken as well. "It can talk?" He looked at me, confused. "Is that why you made it wear a rubber band on its beak last time." I nodded.

"Don't remind me. And it's she, asshole." She was growling as effectively as a rook could, and I raised my hands placatingly.

"Okay, can we calm down?" I looked at Robert, feeling vaguely embarrassed. "Next time I'll send you an invitation. You should probably go. Meet up with your brother, get some sleep." He nodded slowly, and with a rather hesitant wave, walked off.

Sophia and I remained behind, and watched him leave.

"Not bad Hebert. Going for some good old droit du seigneur?" I turned back to her, the insinuating expression she had adopted simply serving to make me angry.

"You shut up." She looked at me, and made some odd motions I assumed were supposed to be mockery of some kind, but she was quiet. "Now. What's the problem?"

"After you pulled the whole, 'I've got nothing to do' shtick, I decided to go off and check up on some things." She paused, and looked at me sharply. "Though given you decided to meet up with the Maighdean right after, maybe I shouldn't have. Honestly, does someone have to put one of those kiddie leashes on you to stop you from meeting mass murderers?"

"It's not that bad-"

"Jack Slash, Bonesaw, the Lady? Once is chance, twice is coincidence-"

I cut her off. "And three times you're out. I wasn't in any danger, get to the point."

"Something's wrong in Emma's dream." I looked at her, eyes narrowed. Normally I would fix something wrong as a matter of course, but her...

"Are you going to be petty about this, or actually do something right for once?" She lifted her wing, presenting it to me. "I've got some accounts left to balance because of you."

"Fine. But I decide how I fix it."

If she was human, she would have been smirking. "Deal."

With a flash and the creaking of a door, the park was left empty and dark once more.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Now hosted on Sufficient Velocity.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


	37. Duty and Dissociation 5.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cracks
> 
> Morphosis, A Worm/Sandman Fusion
> 
> Duty and Dissociation
> 
> 5.4

[]

Brockton Bay was in ruins ahead of me, buildings tilted at odd angles over empty streets. I stepped into the dream slowly, carefully making my way along the streets. The cement was ice cold and rough underneath my feet, cracks running through sidewalk as far as I could see. Admittedly that wasn't much, because if there was one thing that Emma's dreams were, they were dark. The shadows pooled in corners and in alleys, so thick they seemed almost liquid.

The sky above us was featureless and black, with not a star to be seen. I shivered. Still, while it didn't seem good it certainly didn't look like something to panic about.

"You know, I thought you said there was a problem."

On my shoulder Sophia twitched. She didn't respond.

I looked at her. "Sophia?"

She blinked, once, twice, her eyes oriented dead ahead, staring into the dark city streets in front of us. Her beak opened slightly, but no sound came out. She shook her head. "Keep going. You'll see." Her voice was tight.

I frowned. We continued. And the shadows grew darker, and thicker. I ran my left hand along the buildings, trying to keep myself going in something approaching a straight line, even as my right hand went to my sword. The concrete and glass I felt under my hands was warped and rough.

I stopped walking when I found that I couldn't see for more than a foot in front of me. I looked back to Sophia, sitting still on my shoulder.

"Was it this dark when you came here?" When she shook her head I scowled. "Great. So either it's getting worse, or-" I looked around, noticing exactly how complete the blackness was, how impenetrable my eyes found it.

"Something's expecting us." I let out a breath, slumping forward. Nothing could ever be simple could it?

I let my senses expand. All around me stretched the threads and pieces of Emma's dream, and I could feel myself sink into them, flowing around them and into every nook and cranny. I knew her, in a way that was almost intimate.

It was an unpleasant feeling. But it gave me the answers I needed. I traced the patterns that the threads weaved through her dreams, following them around. They were disorganized, a chaotic mess. All centered around a single fragment.

I pushed onward towards the source, my eyes closed, the darkness only bothering me for as long as it took to brush the threads out of the way. I grabbed one of the dark strands and examined it, trying to understand exactly where they had come from. Was it simply part of Emma? The threads seemed familiar somehow, but for the life of me I couldn't remember where I might have seen them before. They tried to wrap around me, bind my hands and feet, but they were weak. I snapped them easily.

Then I pushed through the last of the concealing threads, and entered the centre of the dream.

"What in the world?"

The landscape was a mess, streets interrupted by yawning chasms, buildings toppled over, cars overturned. But that wasn't the problem.

The shadows were wrong. they pooled and clumped like some sort of algae, lurking around alleyways and by storm drains. The dark threads that crisscrossed the rest of her dream made their home there, pulling together into dense knots, tangling the surrounding dream into their fabric. Ripping holes in the substance of this place, making it their own.

It seemed familiar. I walked slowly closer to one of the smaller... puddles. The shadows felt menacing, dangerous.

I poked the puddle with my sword, and the substance wobbled gelanitously. A bubble on their surface popped, and the smell of blood filled the air.

They also felt very familiar. I turned slowly to Sophia. She was breathing quickly, chest rising and falling far faster than normal. Her feathers were disordered, poking up every which way.

I growled and she jerked, staring at me. "Was this on purpose? Some sort of sick joke? Wasn't she your friend?"

"The fuck are you talking about Hebert? You think I wanted something like this?"

"I'm not sure exactly what you want, but doesn't this... shadow seem a bit familiar?"

Sophia looked at me skeptically, and hopped off of my shoulder and onto the ground. She edged close to the puddle, her movements cautious and her wings half-open and ready for flight. The puddle quivered. I tensed, hand on my sword.

She poked it with a wingtip, testing the surface of the substance.

We paused, waiting for some sort of reaction. After a moment, Sophia turned around to face me.

Of course that's when the mass leapt off the ground and spread itself, trying to envelope her. She jumped, tried to fly away, but she wasn't fast enough.

I was. The puddle dissolved into smoky black streamers, drifting away on the air, cut in half by the blue crystal of my sword. Sophia watched them fade, frozen in place. When the last traces had vanished she turned back to face me, her wings still half-open and ready to take off.

"Remember now?" She nodded slowly, eyes darting around to take in the damaged scene, recognition written across her face. "We've both seen this before. Except that time, it was in your dream. Care to explain?"

"I-" She paused. "It's probably better that you just see."

With that she took to the air, winging her way through the air. I followed her, careful to avoid the shadows that lurked in hidden corners and under overhangs. The cracks in the streets grew wider and wider, and the shadows bolder and bolder as we went into the deepest parts of the dream. The threads were almost completely entangled with each other, twisting togethor in a massive knot.

After the third shadow attacked, I took to the air as well, neatly circumventing the navigation of both the chasms and the hunting darkness with a cushion of wind. Sophia simply flew straight, focused forwards, not deviating from her course.

She turned into an alley and a moment later so did I. The shadows were so thick now that I could hardly see the ground, and it took a number of swings to clear them enough for me to land. Sophia joined me, panting heavily as she all but fell onto my shoulder.

"You know, you really should get into shape." The jab was made absently, my attention focused on the surroundings. I ignored her muttered retort of 'cheater', even as I tried to get a clearer picture of what was actually happening in the core of Emma's dream.

We had found Emma at least, the only thing in the alley not covered in the viscous shadow. She was curled up by one of the trash bins, head between her knees. Every once in a while she would shake, and I might hear a sob.

The other figures weren't anywhere near as innocent. A bestial figure loomed over Emma, frozen in time just before it would have struck. It seemed like a twisted person, large and hunched over. Black fluid dripped from its jaws.

Sophia's claws dug uncomfortably into my shoulder.

On the roof overlooking the alley, another figure crouched, ready to pounce. Around their shoulders fluttered a cloak that managed to be dark enough to stand out against the black sky. They seemed to be observing the scene below, not yet having come to a decision.

I looked at Sophia out of the corner of my eye. Shadow Stalker. The name was rather literal in this case, wasn't it?

But it was the last of the three figures that disturbed me the most. Because, standing at the other end of the alleyway, was me. Tall, dark, and more foreboding than I ever was but still unmistakably me.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the threads twisting and knotting around me, all focused on the girl by the trash bin. Tying themselves into her dream. I had the what, as unnatural and wrong as it was.

Now how about the why?

"'Sophia." She looked at me. "What do you know about why people get powers?"

She made a movement that I supposed was a shrug. "Jack shit. People get them, generally when their life is absolutely fucked. Beyond that..." She looked down at the cracked concrete of the alley, her expression pensive.

I frowned. Something's really wrong here. Dreams shouldn't be like this. I raised my sword, focusing on Emma. The knot was centered around her, she was the ultimate source of everything here, even if something else had filled the cracks. Sophia's eyes widened and she jumped off my shoulder, taking flight.

"Wait- What are you-"

"Cutting the knot."

I swung, and my sword stabbed downward, missing Emma by a hair.

It caught her shadow, pinning it to the ground. There was a screaming that erupted from all the shadows around me, like an animal in pain. The darkness surged, ready to strike.

My sword, crystal blue and sharp, flashed once. Then it shone.

[]

The alley was clear, and the sky full of stars. The bestial figure that had once been so difficult to recognize as even human was now a simple mugger. Shadow Stalker and Taylor were still in the same positions as before, the darkness no longer reducing them to silhouettes. The cracks were still there, the buildings still toppled, but Brockton Bay didn't seem nearly as menacing as before.

The shadows were gone.

I stood up and called for a door. The brickwork that made up the alley wall shifted, and swung open.

"That's it?" I turned around, the door swinging closed behind me. Sophia was perched on the garbage bin, staring at me. "You're just going to clear it out and leave?"

I glared. "I could have done nothing. It's no more than she would dese-"

"Look at her!" I stopped. I hadn't expected that of all things from her. Especially not in that sort of desperate, pleading, tone. She calmed down quickly though, and lifted her beak high, looking down at me, once more the Sophia I had always known. "Look at her now and saw that again."

I pursed my lips and looked down at Emma. She hadn't moved at all, I noticed. Not to flee from the attacker, not when I swung my sword.

I wasn't sure why that disturbed me so much. She sobbed again, a quiet, broken sound. Hardly more than a hiccup.

This seemed far too familiar. I sighed and closed my eyes.

"Last time I tried something like this, Nilbog decided to pack up and leave." It wasn't much of a defense, not really, but I still had to say it.

Sophia merely glared at me. I sighed and tossed my hands in the air.

"Fine. Fine." I closed my eyes and forced my senses outwards, trying to assess the damage as best I could.

It wasn't pretty, cracks running all the way down to the foundation, scars from where the shadows had insinuated themselves still omnipresent. I patched up what I was comfortable with shifting, the most obvious repairs, the most urgent.

Anything else would be up to her.

I opened my eyes. Sophia was still looking at me, her expression unreadable. Emma still hadn't moved, still curled up in a ball by the dumpster. It was... sad, in a way. She had once been my friend, then my worst enemy.

Now? Like this?

Just another broken dreamer. I looked at Sophia. I felt tired, for the first time in a long time.

"Are you satisfied?" She nodded, smirking knowingly. I sighed and shook my head as she hopped onto my shoulder. "Let's go home."

We walked out of the alley together, and into the streets of Brockton Bay at night.

In her bedroom, Emma slept calmly for the first time in months.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> Real life is a pain, huh? Sorry if this is below my usual quality. I probably won't have time to post anything until Saturday/Sunday.
> 
> I don't own Worm or The Sandman.


End file.
